


Meet me in the woods

by Muze



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fairies, Magic AU, Potions, Werewolf, Werewolves, Witch - Freeform, Witchcraft, roommates trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 64,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muze/pseuds/Muze
Summary: "She'd warned him to stay out of the woods after dusk years ago. But he couldn't help himself. And now she couldn't help him as the venom slowly spread through his body. In a month's time, he'd become a werewolf. "Esther Denham is the notorious witch of the woods: distant, intimidating and probably lethal. Yet, with his friends being walking disasters, how could Lord Babington do anything else but seek her out? He seeks her out twice for his friends, and once for her sake, but you know what they say, third time's a charm. No normal human walks into those woods thrice and lives to tell the tale.
Relationships: Lord Babington/Esther Denham
Comments: 50
Kudos: 42





	1. The First Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melissa_Alexander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melissa_Alexander/gifts).



> We meet again, Sanditon fam.  
> I'm planning out my Sanditon Valentin fics and my long-running fic Pride & Power but it's been freezing and misty in my area for days now, so I wasn't in the mood for fics taking place in Spring and Summer (and Spain), but I've been itching for something a bit darker and then Sanditoncreative reblogged the most magnificent edit of kitten1618x (gawk at it here https://kitten1618x.tumblr.com/post/190125764991) you can find her on this site as well (Melissa_Alexander) she's a writer too. You guys, I saw that edit months ago and the idea of an Esther/Babington witch/werewolf thing has been stuck in my head ever since. She's truly the edit queen of the Sanditon fam and has even made gorgeous edits for a couple of my stories. Seriously, check her out. 
> 
> The first chapter takes place before any werewolf business, but we'll get there :) I hope you enjoy.
> 
> PS: a little playlist to get in the mood https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlIRK2RBX-FKLK4TquJ_3bCSH56SPqCev

Never let it be said that Lord Babington didn’t do anything for his beloved friends.

Standing in front of the spacious grey stone house in the woods, he doubted whether it had been a solution worth considering.

He eyed the purple smoke drifting from the chimney.

A questionable solution to say the least.

But he was tired of seeing both of his best friends suffering. He’d used all connections his position afforded him to find a possible solution. He’d gotten a lot of shoulder pats and advice he already knew. But there had been one tip which stood apart from all others, one incredulous potential solution for his friends.

Some said the witch seduced men and lured them to their deaths, others had attested to her stealing children from their beds and cursed the families who dared pluck fruits and herbs in the woods. His acquaintance had provided him not only this information, but had also told him that despite how much locals loathed her, none had tried to drive her away, because many also relied on her power… if they needed her… if they could afford the price.

Sharp claws pulled him back from his thoughts. A grey cat rubbed against his legs, looking up at him with gleaming golden eyes once it felt it got Babington’s attention. It had thick even glossy fur, almost silver in the sunlight. It skipped away from his legs towards the door.

Was this the cat of the witch? Was the witch aware of his presence now? He followed the cat to the door. The cat scratched the door. There were claw marks on the blue door, as well as some dried up brown splatters and strange carvings.

A shiver ran down his spine. He had fully believed witches were a work of fiction until a couple of weeks ago. He’d first put the notion of witchcraft down as ridiculous, but then had started wondering if the woman could actually help him, whether she was a real witch or not, if she'd helped so many others already. As a man of the world who’d gotten good schooling, he knew that most witches burned at the stakes had simply been older lonely women who either had an understanding of medicine, or were hated and accused just so others could get rid of them. He sincerely doubted any magic had been involved. He was curious to see just what made the woman in these woods so hated and feared, yet praised. Curiosity had won out, but now he grew hesitant. The cabin didn’t look particularly ominous, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of unease.

He blamed the purple smoking coming out of the chimney.

‘It’s probably just an old lonely woman, no reason to fear’, he told himself.

After a deep breath he knocked on the door.

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮

The door slowly opened of itself. The wooden ceiling, held up with beams from which bundles of herbs hung, was low. And in the centre of the room burned a fire in a stone square made up of blackened tombstones, above it dangled a big cauldron, the contents glowing purple from which pastel clouds drifted up through the chimney. The room smelled of incense and was filled with all kinds of jars full of interesting items, crystals, knives, skulls and other ominous items.

All bravado left him. If it had just been the typical witch attributes from the stories he would have told himself it could very well have been an act. But the unnatural purple of the goop in the kettle, the skulls, the tombstones, and the limbs of animals in jars were decidedly eery and very witchy.

He had been interested to see what kind of person managed to unsettle the villagers the person had told him about. But that had been when he thought witchcraft charlatanism. He’d never considered what would happen if he actually stumbled into a witch’s cabin.

‘So, what makes you think I should help you?’

The voice came from anywhere and anywhere. Babington noticed the cat had disappeared.

‘Who says I need help?’

‘Don’t play games with me. All those who are desperate enough to come here are in need of something.’

‘I’m looking for a way to help my friends. I’m willing to pay. Please, mighty witch – are you alright with the term witch? Lady?’

‘Without payment I wouldn’t even bother. You can call me mighty witch. It is what I am.’ The voice dripped with boredom. ‘And who are you?’

‘Lord Babington.’

‘You want me to address you like a servant? Don’t even deem me worthy enough to know your first name? Since you’re a lord, it’ll probably be something very original. George? John? William? Frederick? James? Edward? Henry?’

A second shiver shook through him. The voice, while a pleasant sound, was haughty and threatening. It only added to his general sense of unease that he couldn’t see her.

‘A nice comprehensive list of the most common names for kings in this country, and indeed most lords. It’s Basil, actually, James and George are my second and third.’

Really, he didn’t know why on earth he was teasing a witch.

‘Tell me what it is you need, Lord BaBab,’ the voice drawled.

Babington walked deeper into the room. The house was bigger than this room, a lot bigger, but he saw no doors.

‘I wondered if there was a way to fix my friends’ trouble. Or, if there was a way of knowing how I could help to make them happier.’

The voice was silent for a long while, until he reached for a jar filled with a transparent liquid with in the middle a floating red flower.

‘Don’t touch that!’ The voice hissed, now a lot closer.

‘You’re here for your friends? Can’t they come themselves? Are they too afraid?’

‘They don’t know I’m here. I want to help them, they barely admit they have problems. Please. I beg of you.’

‘You come to a witch, knowing of the dangers and the payment, while no one even asked for my help?’

‘I want your help, mighty witch.’

He could feel her presence behind him, but he didn’t know whether it would be acceptable to look. Truth be told, he was scared.

‘Well at least you’re respectful and properly afraid. I like that.’

Just a few weeks earlier, he would have dismissed any talk of witchcraft as nonsense.

🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

‘Sit.’

A chair flew past him, towards a table where another stool stood next to. The table was lit by a candelabra with black candles. A stack of cards and a glass orb were placed on the table.

Without looking back, Babington meekly took place at the table.

He could feel the presence, hear it walk even. And then he caught sight.

First of big red skirts, then of a trim waist, and finally, of gorgeous copper curls framing a lovely face as she sat down in front of him. The dress was a few decades old, but seemed to be in perfect condition.

She was young.

Younger than him even.

‘What?’

‘Nothing it’s just…’

She raised her eyebrows, daring him to vocalize his thoughts.

Babington briefly wondered whether it would be insulting to admit he’d thought witches would be old and ugly.

‘I’ve never seen a witch before.’

‘Witches are humans. Surely you’ve seen humans before. Don’t I look like a human?’

‘No- I mean… I mean yes, very human.’

She smirked as he squirmed under her gaze.

‘I apologize, mighty witch.’

‘So, tell me about your friends.’

‘Well one friend is named Sidney, Sidney Parker. He was in love and engaged to this lady named Eliza, but she dumped him to marry a certain Mr. Campion. He hasn’t been the same since. Is there a way to cure his heartache?’

‘They say time heals all wounds.’

‘It’s been years.’

‘There is a solution, of course. Multiple even. But let’s first see if it’s going to be a problem years from now.’

She sighed and shook her cards. With a movement of her hands ten cards flew across the table.

‘We’ll start the easy way, tarot cards. Just remember that the future is fluid and absolute predictions of future events are impossible.’

She turned the cards one by one, not even bothering to explain anything to him until every card was turned. Her eyes fluttered towards him.

‘He’ll be fine. Fall in love in a couple of years, and his personality will be changed by the power of true love’, the witch sighed with a smarmy smile.

‘Still want a cure for that broken heart? It’ll cost you.’

His friend was going to be alright. He could be alright sooner, but magic was.. magic. Unnatural. Perhaps, he shouldn’t meddle in his affairs unless it was absolutely necessary.

‘Perhaps I should just let fate run its course.’

‘Very wise’, the witch agreed before taking back her cards and shaking the cards again. ‘Next friend?’

‘Crowe. Alexander Crowe. Fought in the Napoleonic wars, brothers died, girlfriend died of a lung disease.’

Ten new cards flew towards the table.

This time, her face did tell something.

A frown appeared on her forehead as she twisted the first couple of cards, and deepened as she turned another two. Her eyes flew towards him, and back to the cards. The last couple of cards were turned.

‘This sucks.’

‘Excuse me?’

The witch threw him a warning glance. He bit his lip and apologized. Witches apparently didn’t like to have their statements questioned. The conversation would only go one way, her way. 

‘He’s either going to die soon, die a bit after, or reach old age in a most miserable state.’

‘What does he need?’

‘To forget. Process the emotions. Or find the will to better his life. I think the best solution is to make something which will draw the emotions from his experiences. Then his character shall restore itself for the most part.’

Babington nodded as he watched the woman get up again.

Flying cards, flying chairs, and now sparks flying towards another hearth on the far side of the room, lighting a fire.

‘Right. Book five I think, the emotion potions are in that one.’

She was rummaging through a bookcase. If he wasn’t mistaken, a certain book was shaking as her hand slid past it.

He felt the now familiar claws against his leg. The cat was back again. He gently touched the paws so it would stop clawing him. The cat however, wasn’t done with him and fell on its side to play with his leg with all its paws, playfully nipping at his boots without biting down hard.

He was aware of the witch rummaging her cupboards and shelves, plucking pieces of herb off of the dangling bushes as she went along. The brew in the faraway small kettle started to burble. Then the chanting began. Words in a language he didn’t understand fell from her lips in a melodical rhythm. A wooden wand in hand she made arm movements above the kettle. Sparks flew and the liquid shone.

It was an amazing sight to behold.

He would never doubt the realness of witchcraft anymore.

The witch unceremoniously stopped, and the deafening silence startled him from reverie. She was looking at him, lips quirking upwards with amusement.

‘Shall we talk price?’

He could only nod.

‘Fifty for each reading.’

Babington quickly agreed. What would happen had he refused? He eyed the still boiling purple concoction. Could she take his life instead? Turn him into a toad?

‘As for the potion… I want seeds of every plant and fruit you know of.’

Whether she was able to read minds or expressions, she caught onto him.

‘I have magic powers, but I need things to work with. Can’t make vegetables out of nothing.’

Babington nodded again.

‘Yes, of course. But I don’t have them on me, mighty witch.’

‘You’ll have to return then.’

Babington once again nodded.

With a brush of her hand, the door was opened.

‘You’re free to go. Needless to say, if you fail to show up in a week, something bad shall befall you. Oh and do bring it yourself. I made a deal with you, not one of your servants. You’ll get the potion once you pay for it.’

When he didn’t immediately get up, her eyes travelled across his body until they focussed on the purring form resting on his lap.

‘Dudda!’

The cats eyes flew open and threw itself off of Babington.

‘I’ll speak to you later!’ She scolded as the cat raced outside.

Babington stood and handed the witch the money, which she took with a smile, before he left.

🔮🔮🔮🔮🔮

🔮🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

🔮🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

It took Lord Babington six days to gather all the seeds the witch required. He’d asked the cook to make a list of every vegetable and piece of fruit he’d ever prepared or heard of, and had then sent a servant to fetch at least ten of all. He’d travelled through two counties to get everything, but some required fruits or plants and couldn’t be found in seed-format. No matter however, he rather bring her some things which didn’t fit the bill of ‘seeds’ than bring her too little. As a witch, she’d probably find out.

It was a perfectly lovely Spring day, yet the second he rode into the woods, all traces of the lovely day disappeared. All outside noise and sunlight was swallowed by the large dark trees. Barely any light got through the canopy.

But aside from the path, the forest was dark. He could hear the chirping of the birds though, which put him a little at ease. Nothing truly dark could hide in the woods if there were such normal sounds of life. He was letting all the stories of thugs, thieves, wild animals and witches get to his head.

After half an hour’s ride, he could distinguish the a spot in the woods where the trees were more sparse, grey stone and grass were visible through the tall pillars of the forest.

Her home.

The open space was surrounded by a circle of stone, the meadow within the circle lush and drenched in sunlight. The gate was open just like the previous time. It was a bit low to serve as a real defence, just like the circle. Though symbols had been carved on both the stones and fence. He wondered if the fence was enchanted somehow.

He jumped off his horse and bent forward to touch a stone. It sent a shock right through him. Babington stumbled backwards, his hand still tingling as a voice shrieked in his head. Definitely enchanted.

‘Enjoying my defences?’

Her hair was tied back with a black sash, keeping her unruly manes away from her face. She looked decidedly dirtier than last time, her hands were a dark brown, and she wore a dirty apron. It looked like she’d been gardening.

‘They’re quite strong.’

‘No one has managed to bring them down yet’, she boasted with humour.

He wondered if she meant that both on a literal level and a metaphorical level.

‘I’ve brought what you required’, he explained as he walked onto her grounds, pulling his horse along.

‘This is a bag filled with at least ten seeds of every vegetable that has seeds. And that bag is for the fruits.’

‘Have you labelled the seeds?’

‘Yes. And there’s growth tips on them as well. Watering and soil and stuff’, he tried to explain. But really, he’d never seen an edible plant up close, except for orange and lemon trees in orangeries.

‘Most useful. I think I might even like you as a customer. Though I do mourn that you’re not shivering anymore.’

‘Well, it’s a warm day. No need to shiver if it’s hot’, he smiled. This earned him another well-deserved eye roll.

‘Come inside, your potion is ready. So, you need to give it to your friend completely. Put it in his drink. It’s almost imperceptible in red wine, you do taste it if you try to put it in food, water or whiskey.’

‘It’s fine, he drinks red wine. Why so specific?’

‘It’s what I’ve discovered. No, don’t ask’, she threatened while raising a finger with one hand, while offering the potion with her other.

He noticed just for the first time how long her nails were. They gleamed a dark purple, but weren’t sharp like in some of the stories he’d heard as a child. He looked up at her. There were no boredom and frustration in her eyes right now, she was intrigued.

‘You’re not scared anymore. Why?’

He doubted she would take it as a compliment that he enjoyed her conversation and beauty. She’d warned him in threatening ways a couple of times, but she had never been violent. Perhaps it was stupid not to fear her. She probably had the power to kill him in a number of creative ways.

‘Should I be?’

‘Why shouldn’t you be?’

He couldn’t help but smile.

‘Perhaps, I should give you a small example. Just so it can get through to you, follow me.’

🔮🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

She lead him outdoors again, towards the back of the house. He was surprised to see a large vegetable patch with large pumpkins and zucchini’s in it. Those weren’t meant to grow right now, but it was probably enchanted.

Underneath an apple tree, a stone table stood. In it was a built in chess board, or something like it.

‘Tea?’ she asked once they sat down. He followed her eyes and saw a tea pot and cups flying their way.

He was having tea with a witch. Now would be the perfect time to tell her he was afraid and run away.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to stand.

The tea pot poured steaming black tea in the cup which had placed itself on the side of the gameboard.

‘You are familiar with chess?’

‘I am.’

‘This is chess. But it’s a bit spicier. The figures will actually come alive. And they know you’re playing with them. Sacrifice them or do them injustice and they can steal an hour of your sleep to punish you. I don’t know how long you usually sleep, Babington, but if you get eight figures to rebel against you, it’ll be a sleepless night. Oh, there’s also a price for the winner. We must decide beforehand what we shall give the other before the game starts. The deal is what makes it able for us to move the players. There must always be stakes. However, it’s fine if you’re scared to enter another deal with a witch.’

Babington tried to lift a pawn, but found it glued to the table.

‘I find this to be highly incredulous, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely irresistible. Let’s play.’

‘The stakes though. Hmm, what do you want from me?’

What could he ask of a witch? A favour? Knowledge? He wished to know more about her definitely.

‘I know what I want. I want the trait you’re the least proud of, that way it will be switched with the opposite. It’s always amusing to see how people wish for that trait to go away, but when they only have the polar opposite trait left they struggle intensely as well. And I can use that bottled trait for something in the future', she decided.

What was the thing he least liked about himself? What was the opposite?

The witch looked at him from over the rim of her cup, eyes twinkling with amusement. She’d at least managed to unsettle him again.

‘Something else?’

‘No’, she smiled sweetly.

Well, if that was the way she wanted to play the game, and he was afraid to agree with it, he would ask the same in return.

‘I want the same.’

This surprised her, and she shifted uneasily.

‘Don’t you want to know my secrets?’

He did, and the temptress knew. There were so many possibilities. And he would throw it all away just to take revenge in case anything bad would happen to him. He comforted himself that if she wanted to change the deal, she was just as unhappy as him. On the other hand, it did mean that she was asking for a risky thing, otherwise she wouldn’t object.

‘No’, he smiled in return.

Her smile withered in front of his eyes.

‘Fine’, she snapped. At that, a magical breeze wracked through the trees. Cold and warmth brushed against his hands and between his fingers, black smoke drifting up from the board as the figures creaked, the sound of marble on marble. The black smoke twirled around his wrist and around hers.

A pull, and then it disappeared.

His eyes flew to hers, she threw him a dark look before casting her eyes down again.

The pieces were stretching and moving, except for the rooks which stood motionless.

The pawns started beating their war drums and horns, tension and dread filling Babington completely.

What had he _done_?

  
🔮🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

‘Is it too late now?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Maybe I made a mistake.’

‘Most certainly. But at least I have someone to play with now, it’s so tedious waiting for another soul to come knocking at my door.’

‘I thought you had quite a few customers?’ Babington asked as she made her first move.

‘I do, but I don’t play with peasants. Usually it’s a fae, a vampire, sometimes a banshee or a good-humoured midget. Though banshees make awful conversationalists, their voices are awfully sharp.’

‘T-those live here?’

‘Anywhere really. But yes, some live in these woods. Never enter the woods after dusk, Lord Babab, I wouldn’t want you to walk into a fairy circle. They are just as mischievous and cruel as they are in the stories’, she sighed as she watched him make his first move.

‘But you play games with them?’

‘Some of them. On my grounds. On my terms. They can get bored like me, and since we’re both magical we have a mutual understanding. Though we both abide each other’s laws. I would never pluck random flowers, follow lights or walk into circles.’

Babington eyed the stone row encircling this part of the garden.

‘This is a circle.’

‘It’s mine. I could have made it a square, but call it my sense of humour that I decided to opt for a circle.’

‘It was deliberate?’ he asked as he pushed his bishops forward.

‘No, there was a meadow, and I chopped some more trees around the meadow and it just so happened to become a circle. But don't tell anyone the real reason, it sounds a lot more boring.’

‘You chopped the trees? But they’re huge! Some of them must at least be a hundred years old.’

She sighed and rolled her eyes as she took a pawn from him. The pawn shrieked. Above the two fighting pawns, in a vision of smoke, one soldier slew another on the battlefield.

‘Why do you insist on being so hopelessly stupid. I have an axe, I have magic. I chopped them, with magic obviously.’

‘Of course’, he admitted with shame as he looked at the board.

He ran through all the steps he could take and how she could respond to them.

No, there was a rook there. Her pawns stood in the way of her more valuable pieces. Her queen was dangerously positioned as well. He would have to watch out for it.

He moved his knight.

‘Mildly interesting', she smirked as she analysed his move.

‘When you play with, as you put it, other magical creatures, do you play it any differently than we normal humans?’

‘Magical powers don’t make us chess champions. It only adds another layer as we have to check the other constantly to guarantee they aren’t cheating in any magical way.’

‘Are you cheating?’

‘I don’t need magic when I can just outsmart you.”

“Now I won’t ever talk poorly of you, mighty witch, but I do believe you do me a grave injustice.’

She raised her eyebrows and moved her bishop, taking away a rook.

In the smoke floating above the chess board, an image appeared of a bishop laying siege to a tower, until the archer fell out of it. The tower crumbled as the wounded archer shouted at him.

From the black smoke seeped a tentacle, floating towards his face.

He felt genuine fear then, and fell off his chair in an attempt to get away, stumbling over grass and tree roots. But the tentacle got him. He couldn’t associate the feeling to anything he’d experienced before. The smoke clouded his vision and he felt a stinging pain against his temple, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him confused in the grass.

The witch still sat at the table with a smile. The smoke above the chess board was back to normal. There in the garden against the backdrop of the dark woods, in her old green dress with her wild hair held back by a black sash while magical chess pieces were beating their war drums, she looked every bit the witch she was.

‘That’ll be an hour less of sleep.’

‘The person who loses this game loses twice.’

‘No. Sometimes the player with the most pieces still on the board loses. I’ve won with three pieces left standing sometimes. Lost all sleep that night and part of the next, so I spent the extra time dancing naked in the moonlight in a magical circle.’

Her smile was positively devilish.

He forbade his mind from trying to envision it as he took place on his chair and continued the game, until five more hours of sleep were stolen from him.

🔮🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

‘My my, you’re going to have an awful night.’

‘I was going to have a long night anyway. I don’t exactly live near you.’

‘Lucky for you.’

‘You’ve proven me a great service, mighty witch. I shall not be so ungrateful as to say I’m looking forward to being far removed from you.’

‘Babington, why do you continue on like this when you are treated with so little civility? There’s no need. All others run away the second they get what they need. There’s no need to be so polite and hang around.’

So many people who needed her, and none to thank her. All arriving and leaving with their prejudices and hate despite relying on her. She hadn’t bothered with pleasantries, and her powers ominously hung over all of their conversations, but she didn’t deserve the rudeness.

All immediately left once they got what they needed, and she remind behind alone in the woods with her cat.

Didn’t she grow lonely?

Or did those creatures regularly visit her?

‘Perhaps I like your conversation, if only because it’s so different from what I am used to. Because I needed help and you agreed to help me while you could have refused me, and you could have asked any price yet you asked quite a reasonable one. And because you are a human and haven’t done anything to be treated cruelly.’

‘Well, maybe I will deserve it now’, she said as she moved her knight back. It had taken a pawn there at her previous turn.

He failed to comprehend why at first. His eyes scanned the board, looking for anything that might pose a threat for his king. Then he noticed. With the knight removed, he saw that the path had been cleared for her queen to take his king. And his king couldn’t move. It was stuck between his pawns and a rook.

He’d lost.

The black cloud above the chessboard grew and grew, the vision of the battlefield disappearing.

The stakes.

The smoke flashed towards him, engulfing him in perfect darkness. The smoke was everywhere, in his mouth and his nose. It smelled and tasted of mud and blood. His eyes stung and head hurt. He almost felt a physical _pull_ at his chest and head, as if something was snapped away from him.

Something sharp stung his legs, and he could feel pressure on his shoulders. He gave into the pressure. Slowly, the realisation dawned on him that it were hands. The smoke dissipated little by little. By the time it had gone, all the chess pieces were back in their original positions, and he was sitting on his chair with the witch holding his shoulders.

‘Interesting.’

‘What?’

‘Well, luckily for us, the game tells the winner the price.’

‘What have I lost?’ His mind was racing now, praying he hadn't lost anything important just because he _had_ to take up the challenge of the witch.

‘A very unfortunate thing for someone living in society I believe. You’ve lost your ability to pretend.’

Babington froze. He’d always loathed how fake all of society was, and had hated himself for playing a part himself, but he had never thought his hatred for the pretence ran that deep. And now he was stuck with the polar opposite; absolute honesty.

‘Oh, I could exploit this so much’, the witch grinned as she let go of him. She held a bottle filled with black smoke.

‘So, now that you must answer truthfully… Why did you stay for this game?’

‘I was curious.’

Well that wasn’t bad, he could’ve said that himself.

‘Finally scared?’

‘That game certainly was quite terrifying.’

‘Do you despise me already?’

‘Why would you want to be despised? No, I don’t.’

She appeared to be surprised and stepped away, schooling her face back into a bored expression.

‘Lovely. You’re free to leave now.’

He didn’t know what else to do but bow and mount his horse which was lazily chomping down some grass in the front yard.

‘Goodbye.’

The witch merely nodded at him.

The gate slammed shut behind his back. 

When his horse galloped away, he was certain he'd seen the last of the witch.

And for six years it was.

Until destiny pushed him towards those woods again.


	2. The Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in this chapter are from Fever Ray's "The Wolf"
> 
> This one and other songs to get you in the mood can be found here https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlIRK2RBX-FKLK4TquJ_3bCSH56SPqCev

‘And so the trees spoke for hours on end, they spoke and spoke until they couldn’t think of anything that had been left unsaid. And that’s why I don’t talk to trees anymore, unless I’m really bored’, the witch laughed while raking a hand through a couple of stray curls.

She was still as magical, perhaps even more so, than she was in her own home. Her dress was a gorgeous lavender with a midnight purple sash just around her bosom, complementing the lily white colour of her skin and the red of her hair. The slim fitting empire waist dress left practically nothing to the imagination. Her arms were bare, her cleavage deep, and the contours of her body easy to guess. He’d tried not to form a mental image of her, but to his shame he failed to restrain himself.

She had successfully tamed him. Six years had not been enough to make him forget about her. In the dead of night she came to him sometimes, after an entire month of not thinking about her at all. And there would be no release of her spell, until he sought it himself. All his philandering had come to an end. He was unable to pretend he was interested in them, and he was unable to pretend he didn’t know the reason for this. Just like he’d been unable to convince himself he enjoyed the superficial connections and activities of his past.

‘So this is the height of entertainment in society?’ she questioned as she looked at the underlying garden.

They were standing on a balcony, having left the ballroom behind them after casting a spell on Tom Parker. Her eyes were fixated on the nature in front of her, as if she wanted to throw herself off of the balcony and run back to the woods. He didn’t rule out the possibility.

‘One of the things, yes. You don’t look convinced. Is there nothing entertaining about this party?’ He couldn’t help but laugh.

‘It’s entertaining to see people make fools of themselves. And I must admit I enjoy the music. But the human interaction? I’m glad to know people aren’t just awful to me. Most are generally unpleasant. Most are either boring, annoying or terrifying what with drunks with their touchy hands and airheaded women with their empty chatter. How anyone can enjoy this completely eludes me. Tell me, Babington, are you honestly enjoying yourself?’

Her gaze finally landed on him, and he allowed himself to get lost in her brown eyes.

‘No.’

His inability to lie had caused him quite some trouble throughout the past couple of years, but he’d found creative ways to evade being rude.

She laughed heartily.

‘I see that you’re still just as uncapable of pretending to feel any different about it than you actually are. Fun game of chess, wasn’t it? Your skill of pretending proved to be very strong. I was able to make three transformation potions with it. You proved to be very helpful for my business.’

‘Honesty’s gotten me into quite a lot of trouble. Though I mostly manage to twist my opinions in a way that won’t cause offense.’

‘Don’t miss it? Everyone misses the traits they’ve lost.’

‘Not really.’

‘Not really, why, you’d be the first.’

‘For a while, I’d felt like my life was becoming something of a pretence. I was always playing a part. The goofy friend, the careless rich man, good for nothing except partying… Just because I was afraid that others wouldn’t like me if they knew the real me. I had incredible difficulty at first. With others and myself. It made me realize just how much I pretended, not only while interacting with others, but lying to myself as well. I have to be honest with myself now. I have to confront every unpleasant thought. It’s also opened my eyes even more to just how fake society is. I was frustrated at first, but I believe that in the end, it’s made my life harder but better. I’ve also discovered truth inspires truth. I attract other people who care little for pretence, and my honesty apparently inspires others to be honest in turn.’

‘You’re really too nice for this world. Come on now. Aren’t you the least bit bothered?’

‘No. But surely you must understand. You’ve been delightfully disdainful whenever a man tried to sweettalk you tonight, or when someone tried to have a classic conversation about the weather. You didn’t even try to abide the rules of society, you just shut them down, or rolled your eyes in public. And when you did exchange pleasantries against your will, you didn’t even try to cover your actual feelings. The only thing that’s probably inauthentic about you tonight is your name and the backstory you presented others.’

‘My name is Esther Denham though. I just don’t care to tell others. Call it a habit I got from dealing with magical creatures. And I’ll let you in on a secret. No one is free of pretence, including me.

I play a part every time someone steps into my house. By the gods, half of the stuff in my reception room is purely decorative purposes, just to scare those who come to seek my aid. First I keep my distance while guessing how they’ll respond to me. If I feel like they’ll be polite I’ll just appear as me. If I think they’re superstitious or would underestimate me in my normal form, I present myself as an old scary woman, and if I feel like they’re dangerous I don’t appear at all. I’ll make a cauldron boil over, make the fire exploded, all kinds of things to intimidate them so they won’t try anything funny. Acts are necessary sometimes. People hate me for what I am, no matter if I help them. I charge prices for my work just like an artisan, true, but I provide a service to them none the less. When people want to burn you on a pyre, you don’t want them to see you as human. You want them to know not to mess with you. And it works just fine.’

‘That way though, they’ll never treat you as a human.’

‘They never will. I’m different and I can do what others cannot. Envy and hate are bound to come around. But I do hate the treatment. I barely take on anyone anymore, unless the payment is good. Besides, it’s always the same boring stuff. Revenge, money, power, love’, she sighed as she downed the remainder of her glass of wine in one big gulp.

He couldn’t lie about the fact that her powers intimidated him. Especially since he didn’t know the limits of them. But if they came with being treated that way, he wasn’t sure who would envy her. Nor could he imagine hating her for having them. But he could easily think of a few people who would.

‘You took on me though.’

‘Believe it or not but in all my years on this earth, you’re the first one, excepting some mothers with ill children, who sought my help for entirely selfless reasons. And you didn’t ask for the same boring stuff, you asked for happiness. Most think they’ll get happiness through gaining wealth, power and vengeance. It was quite refreshing to have someone regard happiness as a state of being one had to reach. Not something that came along with something else.’

‘It did have to do with love though, as far as Sidney was concerned. Twice even.’

‘Well… I guess you did deserve to become an exception after being so stupidly kind the first time.’

‘Miss Denham, kindness isn’t some gift which needs to be returned.’

‘Call it Déformation professionnelle. Second law of witchcraft: Everything comes at a price.’

It sounded like an awful way to live, but one many abided by.

Sidney had always been suspicious of kindness as well, always expecting that when people treated him kindly, they wanted something out of him.

He wondered how Esther got by all by herself, believing she couldn’t let anyone come close to her. She barely dared to give anyone her name.

He doubted she had many conversations like this one. After she had done her job, she would return to her isolated home in the woods again. And he would go back to the pretentious society which had lost almost all appeal to him.

‘So after this job, you’re free again?’

‘I wish’, she groaned as she let her head fall back.

‘I have to do a summoning during the full moon. It always leaves me awfully drained, but it pays so well.’

‘What does it pay?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know? No no, I’ve told you enough already. I have half a mind to make you forget. Knowledge is power. And I don’t like anyone wielding any sort of power over me.’

She wasn’t kidding. Her eyes were hard, but her lip trembled.

She was honestly afraid.

How could she live this way?

No wonder she loathed selfishness. She had to sacrifice every form of human connection just so she’d be able to live. And she didn’t use her power for a lot of personal gain. She could probably kill people as she pleased, take over entire towns, perhaps even the country, yet she was happy as long as she got her physical comfort at her home. To her, social climbing and love was a luxury problem.

‘Here’s a potion in case Mrs. Campion isn’t immediately planning on leaving your friend. It’s a temporary truth serum. I’ve observed tonight she doesn’t love him. This will make her unable to act against her feelings. She’ll be leaving Sanditon by the first coach she’ll be able to get her hands on.’

She pushed a vial in Babington’s hands.

‘I’ll leave now. I have a block of apartments to restore.’

‘Should I come?’

‘No, I need to focus.’

This was their goodbye. He’d learned so much about her since seeing her again. At first, he’d thought it had been the mystery of her which had made her so attractive, combined with her looks and undefined power. But as his understanding of her character grew, so did his fondness.

He couldn’t lie to himself, he would miss her.

‘I think asking permission to write to you would be somewhat foolish.’

He doubted anyone would deliver letters to the house in the middle of the dark woods.

‘Like you’d write.’

‘More like you’d answer.’

‘Not a chance, Babington. I’m a busy woman.’

‘Thank you for helping me once again, Miss Denham. I appreciate it a lot.’

‘It’s just good business. No doubt that litre of blood of yours and the chickens will come in handy.’

‘I hope so. I wish you luck, miss Denham.’

‘I don’t need luck. Luck would implicate I’m not skilled enough.’

There was no way to have the last word with this woman.

‘I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Be well, then.’

‘Yes, I’ll take that’, she agreed before walking away.

Crowe joined him as soon as she walked away.

‘That seemed to go splendidly.’

‘She doesn’t care for me at all.’

‘While she’s your invite? The guts.’

‘It was a night well spent.’

‘You spent an entire night making heart eyes at her and she didn’t even blush once. You might as well howl at the moon. Wherever did you find her?’

The moon.

The summoning.

She said the summoning drained her. Knowing her, the effects would probably be even worse, and there was no one to take care of her.

No one who even cared.

Perhaps he should visit her.

🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

In his dream that night he relived their reunion. She’d been shocked when he’d knocked at her doors six years after he’d last left her.

He was given another cup of tea and placed upon a chair to tell his story.

He’d told her that Crowe had bettered his life after having been given the potion, and that Sidney had fallen in love as predicted. But now Sidney’s brother had jeopardized Sidney’s happiness in the worst possible way and he was desperate to help his friend. He wasn’t sure Sidney could handle another eight years of being miserable.

The witch had offered him another reading for Sidney but he’d refused. He stated he wanted the current situation fixed. It needed meddling with fate.

‘Can we turn back time to before the fire, so we can stop it?’

‘Now, say that again but slower – so I can try to comprehend your level of stupidity. Turn back time? I’m only a witch, not a miracle worker.’

She decided that it would take more than a single potion or spell. First, Tom Parker had to become wiser and more careful, to keep him from ruining the Parker family financially in the future. That had to be done with a spell she had to cast herself. So Babington had taken her to a ball Tom would attend and she’d enchanted him there. Then she would use a restoration spell for the building. That was something she was apparently quite good at, as she had repeatedly used those kinds of spells for her own house and dead plants.

But the dream didn’t stop where he took his leave in reality.

In his dream she offered to read his cards.

‘Now tell me what it is you wish to know. Money and finance? Your career? Family? Love?’

The air between them was tense as he confirmed that he’d like to know about the latter. She smiled at him as magically charged air placed ten cards on the table between them.

Her hand, with long purple nails stroked the card before she turned it around. It was a hand holding a cup.

‘This is your present position,’ she explained, ‘you’re experiencing a period of strong emotional health. You have enough satisfaction and happiness in your life… Existing personal relationships may strengthen, and meaningful new ones are likely to form.. If you’re going to marry, the foundations will be laid in the present day.’

Her eyes had lost all guardedness. His breath caught in his throat.

‘The next card is supposed to tell you about any obstacles you may face. Six of cups. Soon you will reap the benefits of events in your past.’

Was the event meeting her? In his dream it sure felt like it. She pulled all her hair over her shoulder, baring more of her slim long neck.

She turned a next card, but deeming it boring she didn’t give him an explanation. She stopped for the following though.

‘This tells us about the effect of past events on your life. Ace of swords. It implies focus and determination. Change through conflict. I think it means that events of the recent past, involving people in your life, have set something in motion that cannot be changed at this stage.’

He leaned more towards the table. Eager to hear more of his inevitable fate. He could feel a gentle brushing against his legs, but knew it was not the cat. It felt like a foot, slowly stroking up and down his leg.

She turned the next card, looking coyly at him from between her coppery curls. She threw a look at the card she turned next, and threw it away.

‘Irrelevant to the story’, she explained as she turned the next one.

‘Your future. King of Cups. Someone else will aid you in achieving your goal. They may seem unconcerned, distant, but their motivations are pure. Do listen to every piece of advice they give you.’

‘The quarant is supposed to reveal your negative feelings about the present. Two of Pentacles. It can be good or bad, but the status quo will be disrupted. There will be challenges in your future, and the outcome depends on how you respond to the events in your future.’

‘The next tells you about how you should deal with the people around you and your surroundings.’

She turned the card and smiled.

‘Fool.’

‘What does it mean?’

She rose and slowly walked over to his side.

‘A new beginning. Change. Risk. An end to something in your old life’, she breathed as she allowed her hand to sweep over his shoulder.

The end of his restraint was near for sure. And making a move on a witch could count as risky. He looked up at her, her dark eyes filled with passion and mischief.

‘Only two more to go. Your hopes, fears and ideals.’

She reached for the card from behind his back, turning the Ten of Pentacles.

‘Financial comfort and emotional well-being are secure. Time for the last one.’

Her breath was hot against his ear, and he fought against the urge to turn his head towards her. He focussed on the last remaining card.

‘The sun. Your goal is within reach. A wedding or the start of a family, and other kinds of ventures are very likely to happen if you reach for them.’

And reach he did. He turned his head to the side and pressed his lips against her.

He awoke to the sound of a slamming door.

Sidney had run into his room.

‘The apartments. They’re rebuilt! It’s a miracle. No one knows who did it. I can barely believe it.’

‘This means you don’t have to marry Mrs. Campion anymore.’

‘But I can’t just break the engagement. That would reflect poorly on my family and on her reputation.’

‘But neither of you cares about the other.’

‘She’ll have to break it. I’m honour bound. She actually gloated about it this morning. Now she’ll get to keep her money and marry me.’

‘Actually, I think I might be able to do something about that.’

🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

_‘Never enter the woods after dusk, Lord Babab.’_

Only a fool wouldn’t be the least bit scared of the impenetrable wall of black against the night sky clouded in fog. He couldn’t see a shard of moonlight peaking through the branches of the trees, even though the moon was full and the stars shone brightly.

The howling wind swept up a bunch of leaves from the forest floor, pushing them towards his horse. It seemed if anything, the things in the woods were looking for a way _out_.

Even if the woods weren’t enchanted, outlaws and robbers were very much a real threat. But he was armed. He had a dagger, a sabre and a gun.

He could protect himself. Years of fencing hadn’t gone to waste.

It wouldn’t protect him against banshees and fairies, but he doubted he’d see a banshee, and if he didn’t fall for the traps of the fairies, all would be fine. These parts of the country didn’t have wolves, and foxes, badgers and deer were fearful creatures. They wouldn’t seek him out.

Riding into that darkness was still a bad idea. But in those woods was someone who would be weak and alone. And he really didn’t feel like she deserved that.

He didn’t know where he’d find Esther, but decided he would just wait for her at her home. There weren’t that many crossroads in the woods. And hers was only the second crossroad along the way.

With two taps of his heel against the side of his horse, the animal spurred back into motion.

On the other side of the forest, a raggedly dressed farmer stumbled through the bushes. The joints of his fingers were already cracking underneath the influence of the moon. The woods had always been his safe place during full moons. The beast liked the wilderness and rarely ventured out. It kept the villagers and lifestock safe, and the beast seemed content hunting whatever lived in the woods. Sometimes there was a robber or a murderer he could get his paws on, sometimes an animal of prey, but never an innocent soul. The reputation of the woods kept every good and sane man out after dark.

**○•~🌕~•○**

**Eyes black, big paws and  
It's poison and  
It's blood **

**○•~🌕~•○**

Babington quickly doubted his decision to come at night once the overwhelming darkness and silence swallowed him whole. He could’ve brought a torch, but he’d decided against it, afraid that it would attract attention.

He regretted that decision now. He could barely distinguish the road underneath his horse’s feet or the road ahead. The only sounds were the wind whistling through the trees, the hooves of his horse and the sound of the occasional snapping branch. No birds, not even an owl, were to be heard.

The lack of signs of life were thoroughly unsettling, but he told himself that it was a sign that nothing was out there in the darkness, hidden in the shadows.

He was wrong though. Animals were known to go into hiding in the presence of another dangerous animal for the same reason he didn’t want to whistle or carry a torch right now. They didn’t want to draw attention to themselves.

 **○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**And big fire, big burn  
Into the ashes  
And no return**

**○•~🌕~•○**

Esther had talked about the creatures she interacted with, but Lord Babington had wrongfully assumed those were the only creatures lurking in the woods.

His thoughts were focussed though, and didn’t think of other fairy-tales as he continued his way. The howling wind wrecked his hairdo and crawled into his clothes. The cold nestled itself on his skin, covering his skin in persistent goosebumps. The shivering put him on edge. Every snapping branch startled him. If only he could see what caused the branches to snap. But there was nothing to assure him that there was nothing in the woods.

‘A deer. It must be a deer. Or perhaps a rabbit’, he told himself.

What he didn’t consider was a man, tripping over branches every time a new wave of changes wracked through his body. Long thick hair pushed through his soft human skin as the bones underneath lengthened and broke, contorting his body into a canine shape. The pain was too intense to even get a sound across his lips.

**○•~🌕~•○**

**We took you out**

**From your mother’s womb**

**Our temple, your tomb**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

Babington hadn’t noticed passing the first crossroad, but the second one was unmistakeable. The forest was sparse around her house, so the meadow was soaked in moonlight and visible through the trees from a good distance.

He felt compelled to spur his horse on to a quicker pace. His unease was growing every second, though he couldn’t find an actual reason for it. After all, he’d seen and heard nothing.

With every step of his horse, the house grew nearer and his fear smaller. Until he arrived at the grounds with a relieved smile.

That was, until he noticed the closed gate. He’d been so focussed on reaching the clearly lit patch he’d failed to notice the lack of light inside of the house.

She wasn’t home.

He hadn’t considered that possibility.

Nor had he considered what he’d do when faced with a closed fence. He wouldn’t touch it again. He could still feel the shock pulsating through his arm when he thought of the memory.

The grey cat wasn’t too happy with her absence either, as it could sense the presence of the dangerous predator in the woods. It had been awaiting its mistress for hours now, but leapt up when it recognised Lord Babington. The night didn’t promise anything good, but the cat couldn’t do or say a lot to make the mistress come home. This man, however, could.

‘Hey there, little one. Dudda, is it?’

The cat whined, impatiently pacing and turning around the fence.

The cat had immediately noticed the aura of the man the first time he arrived at the house. The blue a stark contrast to the aura of most people who came to seek Esther’s help. It had been impossible not to notice how their auras fit together and how its mistress had blossomed under his attention. Strangers would be hard pressed to find a sign of it in Esther’s behaviour, but the cat had noticed how her habitual aura flickered from purple to red whenever she’d interacted with him.

Babington dismounted and bound his horse to a close by tree.

‘What is it, Dudda?’

The cat purred oddly, and jumped at his leg before springing away and halting just as quickly.

‘What?’

He didn’t know what caused it, but he suddenly felt inclined to look up. A flimsy cloud which had hung before the moon drifted past. When he looked back at the cat, it dawned on him that the cat was waiting for him.

 **○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**Can be your pick**

**Not pawned**

**The poisonous blood**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

The demon had taken the sacrifices made for it, and disappeared. Esther wiped her forehead. The exhaustion made her arms tremble, but she had to purify the place, lest the area stay magically charged. She had to be fast about it too. She threw a glance at the sky. The moon had almost reached it highest peak. Soon the forest would become home to the darkest of creatures. The woods were magical, but all creatures in it had their times of the year during which the forest was decidedly theirs. And after midnight during a full moon, all kinds of dark creatures had free reign.

She had to return to her house as soon as possible.

He heard her before he saw her, her soft voice singing in that incomprehensible language again.

She quit her singing when she heard the crackling of leaves and branches.

Something was in the woods.

She prayed it was an animal. 

Nothing could harm her within her circle. All dark powers had been contained within, but it also protected her from outside harm. But she hoped she wouldn’t have to stay in the circle the entire night. The sleeveless black dress she’d worn for the ritual didn’t offer the slightest bit of protection against the October cold.

Something was approaching her.

The snap of a close by branch startled her, she slapped her hand against her mouth to keep from screaming. She didn’t want to attract even more attention.

‘Miss Denham?’

In the shadows on the edge of the open place in the forest, she recognized the figure of Lord Babington.

Had a demon come to tempt her? Had it escaped? No, she had followed and finished the ritual perfectly. The demon had gone. Perhaps it was a creature come to tempt her.

‘Are you really Lord Babington?’

Half of the creatures wouldn’t be able to lie.

‘I worried for you, because you said summoning something left you drained. I thought I could, it’s probably silly, help you in any way?’

That sheer dumb foolishness left her with no doubt that it was in fact the man himself.

Rage took over from shock quickly, the remnants of dark magic leaving her without control of her emotions.

‘You weren’t supposed to be here…it’s dangerous.’

‘I apologize. I don’t quite know what came over me. I just thought – ’

‘It doesn’t matter what you thought. Leave! Now! And hurry! Don’t you understand you stupid man? My magic doesn’t work on werewolves. I can protect myself but I can’t attack it. I can’t keep you safe! I told you to stay out of the woods after dark and you picked the most dangerous night to – ’

A howl pierced the night sky.

Esther gasped for breath. Even the wind was too afraid to move a branch on a tree.

And finally, the full danger of the woods dawned on Lord Babington.

Esther flung the last remnants of her power out, an enchanted gust of purple wind pushed past Lord Babington into the direction he came from. One kilometre away, the gates to her home flung open, welcoming all those with good intentions.

‘The gates of my home are open. Run, you fool!’

His feet spurred into action before his brain could form a single thought. Fear pumped through his veins, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

The cat’s eyes started shining yellow, lighting his path as it ran in front of him.

He ran like he’d never run before.

 **○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**Black paw who’s soaring  
We go out in the morning  
Down the trail  
To somewhere**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

Every sound he made was deafeningly loud. Every foot he set down made a sound similar to throwing a brick through glass.

His breathing was shallow, exhaustion already slowing him down.

The smell of his blood, sweat and adrenaline gave him the distinct smell of prey, though he didn’t know that.

Through the sound of his own rushing blood, he could hear branches snapping close to him.

He picked up speed, adrenaline pushing him forward with renewed strength.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow surge past him.

He froze briefly, turning around.

Nothing.

No time.

Run. He had to run.

He started again. He could already see the house through the trees.

It wasn’t far now.

But during his pause, the cat had kept on running, leaving him with little light to find his way.

His vision which was already poor in the darkness, was clouded with flecks of black from the exertion, causing him to trip over a branch on his path.

He stumbled, his hands catching on a stone, but he didn’t stop running.

The abrasion bled all the same, whether Lord Babington noticed the wound or not. The wolf did. And it _hungered_.

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**You are the sound that I hear**

**You are the sound that I hear**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

He left the trees behind him, feet finally connecting with the hardened dirt road to her home. A sigh of relief broke through his panting. He’d made it.

A wise man would have quickly covered that last stretch of road, only catching breath once he was safely within the circle.

Babington, however, wasn’t used to exercise or having his life genuinely threatened. So his body instinctively slowed down as he ran down the road.

He did not know most accidents happened close to home, this was the case both in his civilized world, but in the woods as well.

Through his rampant heartbeat, he could not hear the unnatural silence.

This time, the shadow appearing in front of him wasn’t imagined.

A beast with matted fur and big black eyes encircled with gold leapt between him and the entrance of Esther’s domain.

Thick drool dripped from between its sharp teeth. The moonlight highlighted each ugly part of the creature.

Babington staggered backwards.

He’d been afraid before. But nothing could compare to the absolute horror of seeing the creature. This was a beast that could kill him easily. The claws, the teeth, the sheer size of the beast. There was no way he could even dream of overpower it.

A growl left its mouth as it inched closer slowly, sizing up its prey.

The human within could recognize the man did not look like a rogue, but the beast had chosen its prey, and the man within could do nothing about it.

Babington kept backing away slowly, though he knew it was futile. No amount of steps backwards would be enough to get away from the beast.

The beast knew this too, and quickly tired of playing with its food.

And with one unrefined lunge, it had flung itself against the man, long claws digging into the flesh of chest.

Babington connected with the ground, the weight of the beast knocking the air out of him.

He could feel drool on his face and hot breath against his neck.

The victorious howl of the beast sounded through the entire forest.

 **○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**We are not standing  
We are falling**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

The beast shifted its paw, dragging it down the chest of its prey, easily slicing through the expensive fabric of his clothes.

The adrenaline and fear protected Babington from the worst pain as the jagged claws sliced through his skin as well. Instead, he could feel the sharp edges of the handle of his sabre pressing into his hip.

Weapons, the thought seeped through the blinding fear and panic slowly.

He had arms. He tried to subtly feel how much he could move his arm. Free. His left arm was free.

His gun would without a doubt be the most efficient. But he would have to undo the safety pin and charge it. No. The beast would kill him before he could shoot.

His sabre was too long. But the dagger in his boot could do. He would have to be fast though.

The beast shifted again, ripping his vest away with its teeth.

He drew up his leg, fingers inching slowly towards the downside of his leg.

Reaching.

Reaching.

He had it.

But his time had run out.

The beast threw his head back to howl, before lunging for his shoulder and biting down.

The effect was instantaneous as the drool of the beast seeped into Babington’s bloodstream.

His chest arched upwards, muscles pulling taut.

But Babington bit through, using the last of his adrenaline to burry his dagger in the flank of the animal.

It rolled off of him with a moan. Deciding the prey was not worth further injury, it quickly scurried off in the dark to lick its wounds.

Minutes could have gone past, or hours, Babington didn’t know.

The adrenaline dissipated and the pain of the injuries set in.

The animals in the woods regained their confidence. The wind returned, and an owl hooted in a nearby treetop.

The cold made the blood clot faster, but the cold settled onto his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

The claws had dug over an inch into the skin of his arms, back and chest. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the throbbing pain on his right shoulder, there were the beast had bit down.

In that moment, he accepted the possibility of death.

He drifted in and out of conscience, until he felt two cold hands on him. He startled, hands desperately trying to push the figure away, but failed in their weakness.

‘Babington, it’s me.’

The voice clicked somewhere. He knew this person. He struggled to open his eyes.

‘How are you?’

‘Not good.’

The redheaded woman – Esther, his memory supplied him – pushed aside the scraps of clothes which still covered him, revealing the wounds in all their glory. To her, it was a miracle he’d survived. The wounds didn’t bother her too much, she could fix those easily. But when she spotted the bitemark on his shoulder, her heart plummeted.

He noticed her distraught expression as her fingers softly pushed the tender skin around it.

‘Very not good.’

He didn’t know how she was able to do it, but she got him upright, placing one of his arms over her shoulder and dragging him to the backside of her house.

Aside from the reception room which had looked deliberately witchy, the rest of her house was both beautiful and comfortable, but Lord Babington didn’t notice this as he stumbled through her door and was thrown onto her large couch without ceremony.

A glass was placed against his lips, which he drank from without protest.

He could feel her working on his body, rubbing the aching wounds with a hot wet cloth and treating them with something which stung incredibly.

‘It’s too bad he didn’t bite your arm. Could’ve chopped it off and then you’d be free.’

He couldn’t make sense of it though. His mind was slow after the blood loss.

‘How did you survive?’

‘S- stabbed him.’

‘You think he’s dead?’

‘Don’t know. Think mnot.’

‘Then I have to go.’

His hand shot out, catching her wrist. His strength was slowly returning. She looked at him in surprise. The restorative potions didn’t usually work _that_ fast.

It was the venom.

The change was already happening, she realized. That meant he hadn’t mortally wounded the beast.

‘Stay.’

‘No. Listen. It’s almost impossible to find the werewolf in his human form. I hav to find him now. If he doesn’t die before the next full moon, you’ll be a werewolf forever.’

‘B- bwut yew said you covn’t wuse magic.’

‘if I throw a stone or sharp silver weapon at him with magic, he’ll die all the same by the impact of it.

‘Ho says he won -tack you filst?’

‘No one. But don’t underestimate me.’

‘If… if yew stay, no one dies. If ye go, he might, but you too. Stay.’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know what’ll happen to you. What it will change. Let go of me, I need to go after it.’

‘Dun leave me.’

And so she gave up and sat down next to the couch, holding his hand.

She couldn’t understand the first thing about him. The kindness, his good-humouredness, the feelings he brought forth in her.

A part of her tried to rationalize her feelings, telling her that it was her lack of society causing her to latch onto the first person she exchanged more than four pleasant words with. He was handsome too, with his cleft chin, full cheeks and curling hair which held the slightest golden sheen in the candle light. But then she had seen many gorgeous creatures in the woods, and handsome men too, but not had made her heart skip a beat like him.

And the worst part of it was that he was the single person she’d met who deserved a perfectly normal and happy life, and now he was cursed.

Why had he come for her?

She waited until he’d fallen asleep before she snuck out.

She would not allow the darkness to claim him without a fight.

Babington’s dreams were a confusing mess of memories bleeding into each other.

Memories and dreams faded into each other.

Esther looking down at him from the enchanted chessboard.

_‘Might as well howl at the moon.’_

The full moon lighting the meadow.

_‘Events of the recent past… have set something in motion that cannot be changed at this stage.’_

Red curls against a black dress.

_‘Do listen to every piece of advice they give you.’_

Esther in his arms as they danced, her lavender skirts swinging out around them.

_‘The status quo will be disrupted. There will be challenges in your future, and the outcome depends – ’_

Running through dark woods, stumbling through bushes, sharp branches connecting with his face and poking his eyes.

_‘A new beginning. Change. Risk. An end.’_

A gate slamming shut.

Gleaming golden eyes.

Fowl breath.

Burning pain.

A thumping heartbeat.

Sharp teeth.

_‘Change.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun.  
> Excited?


	3. Life Altering Changes

The first thing Babington became aware of, was the sound of boiling water, the snapping sound of burning firewood, a flute playing a song, and chirping birds.

Next came scent. The sweetness of baked apples teasing his nostrils.

He fought to open his eyes. The world was a bit blurry at first, but as he blinked, his vision cleared to reveal a wooden living room filled with bookcases. This wasn’t his home.

It took his mind a little while to catch up. His eyes flew to the pots of plants dangling from the ceiling by ropes, and large leafy plants filling a lot of corners and window sills. The couches were a dark wood with red velvet coverings, they were buried in books just like the table. It looked like someone’d been doing a lot of reading recently.

The sound of metal drew his attention to a figure partially hidden behind a wall at hip height, but he could just catch sight of her face. Red curls, pointy chin, full cheekbones.

Esther.

His attention was drawn to his chest. He was naked from the waist up, and covered with a blanket. And on top of his chest, sat Dudda, curling her back and wiggling her tail to show her discontent at being awoken from her sleep.

Golden eyes.

He remembered them glowing to light his path last night.

And then another pair of eyes, black with flecks of gold.

A wolf.

The memories of the past night came to him with such speed that he flinched, finally making him aware of how his body was aching.The dark nightmare seemed so unreal when he thought of it in the warm domestic house smelling of cinnamon apples.

Perhaps it was just that, a nightmare. There could be all kinds of pleasant reasons explaining why he might have blacked out and ended up partially unclothed on her couch.

Only one way to find out.

He gingerly brought his fingers towards his shoulders. An acute pain shot through his shoulder and left him gasping for breath.

He hadn’t imagined it.

He’d been attacked by a wolf.

Snapshots of memories brushed past his mind’s eye.

He knew what had happened, but the memories were fragmented.

‘Finally, you’re awake.’

She strode into the living room with a plate of food.

As she sat down in front of him, chasing Dudda away with her free hand, he could see that she wasn’t well. Her face was pale and her hair was sticking up in all kinds of odd places, as if she’d been running her hands through it the entire night

‘Eat.’

Even now, she had no problem commanding him. But a part of the distance between them had melted. She gently helped him to sit upright. The blanket fell away, revealing craftily wrapped band-aid where the wounds had been. She’d really done her best to patch him up.

The first few bites of food were taken in silence.

He didn’t know how to start a conversation after everything that had happened, and it appeared she didn’t either for a while.

‘I couldn’t find him’, she confessed.

‘You went to find him anyway?’

She didn’t answer him, but her silence told him enough.

‘Miss Denham, I told you not to bother.’

‘You have no idea what’s in store for you. Do you? Did your parents never tell you stories at night?’

‘I’m afraid I saw awfully little of my parents growing up. Could you tell me, please?’

She let out a sigh and pushed herself back up again, taking her time to pour the both of them a cup of tea. She placed a cup on the table before him and took a large gulp herself before sitting down on a couch beside her books. Her eyes glossed over a page that still lay open. She’d been reading ever since she got home.

‘Werewolves are humans who transform into a wolf every full moon. During that full moon they cannot control their actions, and become slaves to their animalistic instincts. Their humanity is locked away deep inside them. They hunt anything that crosses their path. There’s only one way to stop them: feed them wolfsbane and lock them up.’

‘Their whole life?’

‘Yes. Their scratches are safe, but if they bite someone while in their wolf form that person shall undergo a month of changes, which come to an end by the next full moon. After that, the curse completely consumes them. In the end, the traits of the human and the wolf kind of flow over into one another, depending on what kind of person you are. Unless the person who gave you the curse is killed before that time. That’s the only way someone can be saved. That way, the curse dies with the original wolf. It’s why I went out last night. I looked until dawn. But I couldn’t find him anymore.’

She’d been out all night to save him from his fate. Even though the summoning must have drained almost all of her strength. It told him enough about how horrible this curse was that she went through all the trouble.

‘You did all you could.’

‘And I wouldn’t have had to, had you stayed away from the woods as you should have!’

Her distress went over into anger again. If eyes could kill, he’d be dead already.

‘Why did you come, Babington?’

‘I wanted to help you.’

‘I don’t need your help. I’ve always taken care of myself. Why do you think I suddenly needed you in the dead of night? After I told you to stay away from the woods after dusk! Really, if you were so dead set on coming, couldn’t you have waited until the next morning?’

It wasn’t an unreasonable question, but her rising voice hurt his head. He set the plate away, cradling his head. His head felt like it was going to explode.

‘Babington?’

She was at his feet in an instant, her cold fingers sliding between his warm ones to feel for herself. They could both feel his heartbeat through the pulsing vein on his forehead.

‘Even as a human, your senses shall be heightened. But this quickly? I only slightly raised my voice. Perhaps I should just finish all explanation. Because of the heightened senses it is very hard to kill a wolf. They can see you, smell you and hear you before you’re near. And once you get to them, you’ll have to go through a lot of effort to kill them. Because they are able to heal a lot quicker as well.’

Her eyes travelled over his chest. She studied the browned blood which had soaked through his bandages. There was nothing appreciative in her eyes, if anything, it was fear. She gently touched the skin around his bitemark.

‘How long until the next full moon?’ Babington asked.

‘Normally there’s a full moon each month.’

‘So I have thirty days?’

‘Less. There’s a blue moon on Halloween.’

‘That’s… Less than twenty-eight days.’

Esther nodded emphatically.

‘You have twenty-eight days to say goodbye to your former life.’

‘Goodbye? But… I- I get that it’s dangerous but if I lock myself up that evening, I’m only missing one night every month right? That’s… Someone can live with that, right?’

She huffed a mirthless laugh before standing up.

‘You’ll be out for longer than that. The day of the transformation you will feel uneasy, on edge. Unfit for polite society probably. And afterwards, you’ll feel weakened. Your body will have gone through the horrific process of your body breaking and reshaping twice, you’ll have lost an entire night of sleep. The instincts of the wolf will still be present. It takes at least a day of recovery, perhaps more. If you’re lucky, you’ll lose two days, it can be more. People will start to notice. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to shrug it off as something of an eccentricity, but to many, it shall look suspicious. And when people get suspicious, you’re in danger. Your London days are over, Lord Babington, the more people living in close proximity to you, the more people who’ll be able to notice that there’s something different about you.’

‘Is that what happened to you? You moved because people noticed?’

‘First of all, you’re born a witch. Secondly, we don’t talk about me. What I do want to talk about, is what you’ll do.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve barely been awake long enough to have breakfast, let alone think about my future.’

Never mind that he’d only gotten enough information to know he would have to change his way of life one minute ago. She always wanted him to be quick on his feet, immediately processing things and making up his mind.

He’d gone from living his regular life, to having to say goodbye to his old life and humanity in less than a day… Even in less than one hour of being awake. She wasn’t being reasonable.

‘You can stay here while those wounds heal. Figure things out in peace.’

She got up and walked towards the kitchen again. In the corner of the room, a small piano started playing a song. She was done with the conversation.

‘But I don’t have any clothes’, he called while pulling his blanket over him again.

‘I don’t mind’, she smirked as she grasped a sash from a bookshelf to tie her hair.

‘But if you do there are clothes you can wear upstairs. There’s a spare bedroom, first door on the left.’

He didn’t know whether to wait for further permission, but his hesitance annoyed her.

‘Yes, you can go. Shoo.’

🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

He wondered how a witch had gotten her hands on such a collection of clothes but knew the odds of her answering the question were fifty-fifty. He struggled to put on the shirt, his body protesting at every move. Walking over towards the window, he contemplated whether putting on a vest and coat were worth the struggle. All of yesterday’s fog had cleared up and instead the sun shone brightly. A nice hot autumn day. On the other side, imposing on Miss Denham’s hospitality and then walking around improperly clothed as if he were at his own home might not be the best course of action.

He spotted her walking towards the fruit trees in the back. Now that he was here, he might as well make himself useful. He threw on a coat and buttoned it hastily, giving himself a one over in the small mirror. A cravat could have covered the spot of red stretching from his shoulder to his neck where the wolf had bitten him, but the wound was too sensitive to consider.

Twenty-eight days.

That was all he had before that bite would change his life forever, unless he killed someone. That was the price: a life for a life. Even if he could find the person responsible, was it worth it?

He could return to his estate and life a quiet life with few servants. That would lessen the chances of anyone noticing he got ill every month around the full moon. He’d grown tired of London society but to be bereft of it entirely was something else.

Deciding not to dwell on it, he ran outside.

‘Miss Denham!’

She was shaking a branch of the apple tree, pausing as she heard him. An apple deciding it was ripe enough to give in fell from the tree as she stopped, bouncing off her toes. Her eyes narrowed on the piece of fruit before it caught flame.

She looked up unbothered as she kicked the charred apple aside.

‘Please do me the favour of either calling me Esther or Mighty Witch’, she drawled with calm disinterest.

‘Very well, in that case I must ask you to call me Basil.’

‘I shall do as I please, my Lord.'

‘Also alright.’

‘So, what is it?’

‘Nothing. Well, okay it is something. I wondered, since I’m here anyway, if I could be of any assistance. Some work you don’t care for and I can occupy myself with. I don’t like being useless.’

‘Isn’t that the whole point of your lifestyle? Living in nice estates, attending stupid dances and silly dinners, being rich together with other rich people because you fell from the right womb. Have you even been near a tree?’

‘Maybe, but I do try to find some purpose in life. And I’ve plucked my fair share of apples and pears. I have an orchard at my estate.’

She looked him over for a while, as if she was contemplating whether he was up for any task in her house.

‘It’s harvest season so every day new fruits and crops are ready. They all need to be plucked and gather. I assume you don’t know how to make jam out of the fruit or how to conserve the vegetables so you can leave that up to me. Go through all trees, bushes and the vegetable patches and collect it. Easy enough?’

Babington simply nodded.

‘Don’t dare reopen your wounds while you’re busy by the way.’

‘Wouldn’t dare.’

And so Esther left him alone. On the ground underneath one of the apple trees stood a knee high basket. Opposite the tall apple trees stood a large fig tree and next to that a pear tree. On the edge of the clearing, just outside of the stone circle around her garden, stood a broad and crooked walnut tree close to a wooden shed surrounded by flower bushes. Many flowers had already been lost, but their stalks still stood green and tall, forming a lovely contrast against the red and yellow ivy reaching towards the roof of the shed. Looking around the large square patches of vegetables on the left side of the garden and the circle shaped patches of herbs on the other side of the garden, he wondered how he was ever going to manage to cover the whole garden before sundown.

Taking a deep breath he decided to start with the apple trees and just take it from there. With the sun shining down on his back, it quickly became too hot to keep on his coat. By the time he was climbing into the fig tree – having forgone the tiny ladder in favour of standing on the strong branches to reach more figs – he’d thrown his coat somewhere on the grass.

At first, he’d been consumed with thoughts, thinking about the attack, how he was going to spend his final month and worrying about his friends. But as he ploughed through the work, all those thoughts slipped into the background as he plucked the fruit, going for new empty baskets standing on the stone terraces near the backdoor of the house and continuing to fill them until he reached the end of the largest vegetable patch.

Then he stood, gently stretching his stiff back, arms raised towards the sky. He realized his back wasn’t as hot as before, and could actually feel a breeze cooling the sweat on his back. Raising squinted eyes towards the sky, he noticed the sun was on her way down. He’d been outside for the majority of the day. Soon it would start getting dark.

Yet Babington didn’t feel rushed at all, instead he felt quite peaceful as he observed the home that was almost completely swallowed by rose bushes and purple foxglove at the base. Witch’s glove it was also called, how fitting. There was nothing ominous about the backside and garden of the house, if one ignored the patch of herbs with a star laid in stone dividing the different types of plants. As a matter of fact it all looked quite lovely and inviting, an invitation he wasn’t going to discard.

Slinging his vest over his shoulder, he opened the backdoor leading into the kitchen. The closing door drowned out the sounds of the crickets and birds, and instead brought the sound of something liquid boiling in a pot on top of a stove. Above the hearth which was open on both the side of the kitchen and the side of the sitting room, hung another cauldron.

He hung his coat over a wooden chair, walking over to the low burning fire. It looked to be just water with some nice smelling herbs: rosemary and lavender, if he guessed correctly. He took two blocks of wood from the basket beside the fireplace before walking around the half wall. The evening sun was angled low enough to slant its lazy golden rays straight across the half wall, bathing the furniture on the far end of the living room in sunlight.

Against said wall stood the sofa where he’d lain that morning, but which was now occupied by the sleeping form of Esther. Her left arm and pale yellow skirts grazing the floor. The exhaustion of the past night had finally caught up with her. His hands itched to touch her, but he decided against it and returned to the kitchen to inspect whatever was on the stove. It turned out to be soup, or what would become soup. Right now, there was still an entire chopped up chicken bobbing up and down in the water between sticks of celery and carrots. The occasional bubble broke through the surface as he watched. Sniffing the contents, he wondered whether he could finish it, it smelled about right. He quickly rinsed his hands with a bar of soap in the basin filled with water on the far end of the kitchen and returned to the pot. A wooden spoon still lay next to the stove. Softly poking the chicken, the meat almost immediately fell from the bone, floating to the surface. It was probably ready. There weren’t supposed to be hand-sized chunks of boned chicken in a soup.

Esther must have fallen asleep while waiting for the soup to get ready, because an empty bowl already stood on the countertop, in which Babington quickly deposited the chicken and the bones. Looking around the kitchen whether she might have left other clues, he found a small kitchen strainer. Looking at the big pot, he assumed that was probably for the vegetables and herbs still floating around.

But a soup required vegetables and chunks of chicken, didn’t it? Was he really supposed to get it out? Perhaps he should get them out and chop them up again. His eyes found some leeks, carrots and celery not too far away. Aha, fresh ones which hadn’t been boiling were to be added, he decided.

🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮 🔮

Even though Babington hadn’t noticed the difference, his smell and hearing had definitely become stronger that day, but after working in the garden for six hours, they’d been reduced to their normal level. And absorbed as he was with his self-assigned task of finishing the soup, he didn’t hear Esther waking up and pouring herself a cup of red wine from a bottle on the half wall as she observed him.

She’d contemplated being angry with him for intervening with her food while he probably hadn’t spend more than ten minutes in any kitchen, but she found herself enjoying the sight of him cluelessly looking around and deducing the next steps as he went along. The diced vegetables were perhaps too large, but just the fact that he’d come in and had decided to work on the soup instead of rousing her warmed her up inside. Him, a literal lord, trying to make soup for the witch of the woods. He didn’t look like a lord though, in his breeches covered with dirt and that loose shirt with billowing sleeves. It didn’t look bad on him though, there was just something about the slope of his shoulders and his narrow hips.

The last step was unknown to him though. There were no more hints to be found on the counter. She bit her lip, supressing a smile, it all shouldn’t be as endearing as it was. But as he was here, why not enjoy the company a little bit? He was incredibly susceptible to her teasing and attempts to unsettle him.

‘You need to skin the chicken and remove the remaining bones. Then you can chop it up and throw the tiny pieces back in’, she drawled, her lips involuntarily quirking upwards when she succeeded in surprising him.

‘You’re awake! I um- I was… well.’

‘Well, go ahead. Finish what you started. You were doing a good job.’

He threw her an uncertain smile before glancing around the kitchen to look for a knife and something to cut the chicken on.

‘Knife hangs from the wall, there’s a cutting board in the cupboard on your left. Yes, very good.’

Now that she had exposed herself, she took place on a chair at the kitchen table, leisurely nipping her wine as she observed him. He obviously felt insecure, especially now that he was aware of her eyes on him, but this only added to her entertainment. 

‘So, did you manage today?’

‘I hope I did. I managed to cover all the trees and the largest patch of vegetables. Didn’t manage to do the rest. You can look outside if you like, verify whether I’ve done alright.’

After downing the last bit of wine, she stood and walked over to the door, opening it to find eight baskets on the stone terrace. Two were filled with apples, one with pears, a smaller one with figs, another large one with potatoes, another with cabbages and sprouts, then one with carrots and a last one with turnips. Beside all the baskets stood three ripe pumpkins. He’d done a good job, she wouldn’t have gotten that far without magic. She closed the door to shield herself from the quickly cooling evening air, turning back to Babington who threw her an insecure questioning look.

‘It’ll do’, she admitted without a smile.

As he continued chopping the meat, she decked the table, putting on two plates and cutlery, a loaf of bread, cheese and another bottle of wine.

‘I need to check up on a potion in my “office” shall we call it. I’ll return by the time the fresh vegetables are cooked.’

‘And when’s that?’

‘You’ll know. Sit down Basil, relax. Have some wine.’

He eyed the bottle, noticing how oddly it was shaped.

‘It’s just wine in case you’re wondering, it might just be a little bit stronger than what you’re used to.’

‘How come?’

‘Why, the fae made it of course, they make the best wine. But they can hold their liquor a bit better than humans do.’

With that she left him behind to check in on the truth potion which had steeped over the past two nights. It only needed a last ingredient. She sighed, she hated this step. Pouring it into a clean bottle while leaving out the herbs and flowers, she looked at the green liquid. Perhaps since the man was so eager to help with everything else, he wouldn’t mind helping her with this as well. She grinned, oh that would be fun. He would get to know some things about her as well, but it would probably be worth it.

She started another tranquilizing potion before returning to the kitchen. Babington was sitting on the couch, completely absorbed by a book she’d left open. It had a couple of paragraphs on werewolves. Her resolution to enjoy herself faltered. She had accepted long ago that she would never live in society. It was a very long time ago since she’d last felt sorry for herself for not having someone to talk to.

Was it fair of her to pretend like they were just two normal humans hanging out while they were anything but? He was a wealthy man, forced by circumstance to stay with her for a couple of days until he’d healed enough to settle his affairs before his life changed forever, not just one of her fae friends dropping by for conversation and company.

She decided morosely sitting around would benefit no one. They could at least enjoy each other while they were together.

‘Time for supper’, she announced before taking the soup off of the stove and putting it on a trivet in the middle of the table along with a ladle.

Babington walked into the kitchen, taking place opposite her. Esther tested her mind, feeling how it responded to her pushing its edges. It felt slightly sore since she was still quite drained, but she had enough strength to push her magic out, making the piano in the corner of the living room play a tune to kill the silence.

‘No doubt this is the plainest supper you’ve ever eaten.’

It wasn’t that she was deliberately making jabs, but after over a decade of keeping humans away from her, it was hard to find another way to converse. However, Babington didn’t take offence and just slightly shook his head.

‘You’ve made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t meant to be here in the first place. What kind of unwelcome guest would then complain about the food – which suits me just fine by the way – to the hostess? Besides, it’s my first self-made soup ever. Even if I completely butchered it, I won’t say a bad word about its quality.’

Esther took a sip from her wine, eyes sparkling with amusement as she pondered what to say next.

‘The quality of the vegetables though. They’re quite… chunky’, she decided while lifting a spoon with a big piece of carrot taking up almost the entire spoonful.

‘You of course, are free to say anything about the quality. No doubt you’re quite the expert.’

‘One could say I make stirring pots and cauldrons my job’, Esther smirked before bringing a couple of spoons to her mouth.

Babington laughed easily and eagerly, as he always did. She found it hard to keep a neutral expression.

‘And one you do very well, if I may say so’, he admitted.

‘You may.’

They ate in silence for a while, refilling their bowls of soup while finishing off half the bread. Meanwhile the level in the wine bottle kept lowering. He didn’t show any signs of inebriation yet. Perhaps he was indeed used to drinking quite a bit.

‘About my job… are you still eager to help me?’ she tried with a smile.

His eyes were sharp, though not unkind. ‘What would you have me do?’

Esther waved for the pot of soup and the other remnants of supper to float to the counter. A bowl of fruit landed between the both of them as a sweet treat.

She procured the bottle, holding it up with an ominous smile until she had his full attention.

‘This, is truth serum. Or it’s going to be’, she explained as she placed the vial between them, slowly unscrewing the lid.

‘To finish truth serum, we have to tell secrets to the potion. If we give our secrets away, the potion shall make those who drink it give their potions away. It’s all about the transactions.’

Babington nodded, staring at the vial.

‘But if we’re both here, won’t our secrets be… well, no secrets?’

‘It’s a secret as long as it’s something you wish would remain hidden, no matter whether one or two persons know it. If all of your friends know it though, it’s no secret. We can each take a turn? A vial this size requires eight truths. I’ll go first.’

Esther looked from him to the vial. A harmless truth no one knew. She actually had a list, she’d made the potion so much she already knew at least twenty things to confess to it.

‘Half of the things I sell don’t count as real magic.’

A sparkle flew from the bottle.

Babington stared in wonder at the bottle before his green eyes fixed on her again. It wasn’t a completely new piece of information, she’d told him before that half of the stuff in her office was purely decorative, but she hadn’t yet told him that a chunk of what she sold wasn’t magical either.

‘They’re not?’

‘No, I do a lot of tarot readings and sell a lot of medicinal products. The first is something many normal human beings can do, the second one is just herbology.’

Babington nodded, looking back at the bottle.

‘I almost got arrested once after a wild drunk night with my friends.’

The potion let out a couple of sparkles, clearly Babington’s secret was quite potent.

‘Almost?’ Esther smirked.

‘Well, someone of the local militia arrived. Mind, this wasn’t in England… We tied the man to the back of a bear and threw him into a river.’

‘What? You? I don’t believe it.’

‘I’ve changed quite a bit the last few years.’

‘Why, I’d have never thought you had a wild streak. My my, Lord Babington, for shame. Was that back in the time when you pretended to be someone you weren’t?’

‘One of the biggest reasons why I’m done pretending. I don’t fear the label of being boring anymore.’

Esther nodded. He kept on getting more interesting. She’d been intrigued when he’d admitted to not being bothered by his forced honesty, but given the kinds of things he did in the past to play his part, she felt like she was beginning to understand. She gave his glass of wine a refill while mulling on what secret to tell next.

‘I’m too lazy to brush my hair each day. The curls always knot, and if I brush them they need just the tiniest bit of wind before they’re tangled again. It’s why I don’t bother pinning it up, no one expects a witch to look all prim and proper anyway.’

‘That’s an endeavour I would gladly undertake.’

Esther noticed Babington’s eyes grew large at the truth involuntarily slipping past his lips.

‘Miss Denham, Esther, I-‘

‘Oh why not? Suits me just fine.’

She focussed on where her brush was located in her bedroom and compelled it to come to her.

‘Your turn, Basil.’

‘I don’t care for London an awful lot. Everyone is always playing a part and actively looking for drama and it disgusts me.’ Nothing new about that. But since it was still one of his secrets, the vial swallowed the truth all the same.

The brush arrived and landed between the two of them. Esther curved her eyebrow, and Babington meekly stood. As he hesitantly tried to separate her hair into three sections – it had been more tangled than he’d guessed – she gently swivelled the liquid in the vial. The colour turned into a brighter yellow.

She wondered what could unsettle or entertain him. Her mind briefly went to her family history, before decidedly putting that aside.

‘I’ve had sex’, she said carefully before taking a sip of wine. She could feel his hands still in her hair. Virginity meant little in her world, except for sacrifices amongst the dark witches, but in normal human society it was the biggest kind of scandal if a woman lost hers before marrying. She wished she could see the face of the young lord as she lazily drank from her glass. 

‘I thought you never got close to people.’

‘Not to humans… usually.’

She could feel his hands tremble as he gently tried to brush out one of the knots. Her statement had charged the atmosphere with tension. She wasn’t sure whether she was glad she’d yet again made herself a bit less of a human in his eyes. Yet she couldn’t help but feel the need to put emphasis on the fact that she wasn’t like him.

‘I did too’, he admitted. The vial sparkled.

After he’d finished the left and middle part she turned around on her chair.

‘You had sex with non-humans?’ she teased.

‘No. With normal humans… usually’, he added with a smile as his hand gently took hold of the righthand section of her curls.

She ignored the tiny flutter her heart made at that statement.

‘Perhaps you need to update me on society’s morals, Babington, but isn’t it generally assumed men can’t keep it in their pants until marriage?’

‘It’s quietly assumed, but you’re never supposed to talk about it and no one is supposed to find out.’

‘Society sounds so tiring’, she drawled before slowly putting a blackberry in her mouth. Babington breathlessly followed the movement.

She eyed the vial. A last secret. She decided to end on a boring note, it had been interesting enough for tonight.

‘I get lonely sometimes.’

It was a truth she didn’t like to admit, not even to herself. She didn’t _need_ anyone, but sometimes she wished for there to be someone to talk to, and occasionally hug. Dudda was more than eager, purring and meowing in response to her, and she loved a good snuggle too, but it wasn’t the same.

Instead of ending on a boring end, the statement brought forth all kinds of feelings in Lord Babington now that his suspicions were confirmed.

‘I used magic to intervene in the lives of my friends’, Babington said to finish the potion. The bottle glowed golden and Esther screwed the lid on it.

Her eyes connected with his as the brush slowly slid through the length of her hair. She noticed he had just the slightest shadow of a beard on his cheeks, and she had to admit it didn't look bad on the usually pristine lord.

He also had an easier time holding her gaze now. Perhaps he’d grown more used to her through their encounters.

As he ran the brush through the final part of her hair, she allowed her gaze to wander across his body. As she arrived at his chest, she noticed a slight change of colour and texture around his middle. The bandages, she remembered.

‘We should change them,’ she explained before standing up.

Babington, looked at her in confusion, brush still in hand, but quickly nodded.

While instructing him to take off his shirt, she gathered her tools in the living room.

He had removed his shirt but was still clutching it to his chest.

‘You know I’ve seen it before right? That’s how you got those bandages in the first place’, she smirked.

‘Suppose you’re right’, he admitted with a smile before lowering the fabric and allowing her to remove the old bandages. The wounds were red and angry, the skin around them stained orange because of the healing mixture she’d applied on it. It didn’t look anywhere near as horrific as the previous night though.

It was the first time he’d seen his own injuries. As one who rarely had an injury aside from getting a couple of bruises while learning how to ride a horse as a young boy, the sight of the uneven long claw marks unsettled him deeply. He couldn’t fathom having walked around all day with those. He’d been sore, for sure, but this was truly something else. It also added to the growing awareness of the severity of the events of the previous night. He’d been lucky to survive. Yet, he knew those injuries were minor compared to what the future had in store for him.

‘Nothing looks infected, that’s good’, she mused as she washed away the old mixture, gently dabbing the wounds. He bit his tongue to keep from squirming.

‘Alright.’

Her fingers were cool against his skin, and worked with purpose. They didn’t linger any more than necessary, though she didn’t appear to be too skilled. She probably rarely tended to wounds. He couldn’t imagine her being so clumsy she’d be needing bandages of the same sort.

‘It’s going to scar though, I think.’

He was glad she was quite practical about it, not making it any more uncomfortable or tense than it had to be.

‘Lovely’, he decided with humour.

Esther’s eyes flickered to his face, wondering how he could remain calm and humorous even when faced with this many setbacks.

Not knowing what to say anymore, she simply reapplied the healing mixture and the bandages, checking their tightness a final time before giving him a nod.

‘So, all set for the night.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Can’t have you getting an infection.’

‘You could, though I’m very glad you don’t let that happen.’

‘If I wasn’t the one doing it, surely you’d be able to get yourself a decent doctor.’

‘Still, thank you, for helping me and letting me stay here for a while.’

She stood, turning away from him before talking again.

‘Oh well, since it’s harvest season, I could use the extra hands anyways. And you’re the only client who returns, I like to think of it as an investment.’

‘Meow.’

Dudda brushed up against his leg.

‘And the cat’s fond of you, for some reason. She would’ve nagged for weeks had I sent you away.’

He used his thumb and index finger to tickle Dudda’s ear.

‘She’s lovely. Yes, aren’t you lovely, you adorable little piece of fur?’

Esther walked away, messing with something in the kitchen before walking to the door leading up to the stairs.

‘I’m off. You coming, Dudda?’

The cat playfully nipped at his hand before pressing herself against it again.

After a final couple of pets, she decided it had been enough for the night and followed her mistress upstairs.

Left behind in a witch’s cabin in the middle of the woods, caught between mixed feelings at a crossroads in his life, Babington could only try to find sleep. But without employment or company, his mind wandered, and the frightening unknown kept him up all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't my favorite chapter, and to be honest I know how I want to end it (have even written good chunks) but am struggling with a bit of a writer's block. 
> 
> But thanks to everyone for leaving kudo's and sweet comments, they are ever so encouraging. Love you all! <3


	4. coexistence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all support after the previous chapter. I've got their character development worked out and I'm excited to keep working on this one!

Babington shot up with a gasp, sheets tangled around his legs.

It was almost laughable how absolutely petrified he was while the room was so tranquil, and located in a house probably safeguarded by a dozen spells.

A dream, he told himself as he tried to swallow the fear away, it was all just a dream.

Another swallow, his breathing calmed down, but his heart beat was still thrumming loudly in his ears.

He took in his surroundings to assure himself that he was, in fact, safe. He could make out the contours of the furniture. The feeble predawn light tumbling through the window revealed which pieces were darker and which were more pale, but their colour remained hidden, all still coated in a dark gloomy blue hue.

He must have fallen asleep after all. The night had still been dark when he last looked around the room. But he knew not whether he’d slipped away for minutes, or hours. Night stretched for more than a third of the day, but the end of night happened in less than an hour.

The sheets were clammy when he pulled them off of his skin.

The beast was still there when he closed his eyes to blink, ready to pounce.

His legs were restless, eager to continue the running they’d done in his dream.

They hadn’t run fast enough to escape it.

Leaving the suffocating sheets behind, he drifted towards the window.

He needed light after the darkness of his dream.

The moon was still as good as full.

Probably the last time he’d be able to look at it without it meaning anything.

How could something so beautiful, be the cause of a monstrous change?

He’d always enjoyed the full moon. He’d loved making trips through gardens illuminated by the white glow of the moon, and had often walked through the streets of London with his head lifted towards the sky to puzzle together constellations.

Only twenty-seven days left.

His throat was dry. Would Esther mind him leaving his room and wandering through her house by himself?

He’d done so the previous day, when she was asleep, and she hadn’t said anything of it. He could probably risk it.

Picking out a set of clothes he hoped wouldn’t look too bad once it was light, and slipped downstairs. His attempt at stealth had been for naught, however, as a couple of candles were burning already.

Dudda meowed from the couch, where she sat between the piles of books. Jumping off of them, she walked over to the kitchen where she jumped on the table top.

‘Good morning little lady, where’s your misses hm?’

She lifted her head for some petting. She was sitting right behind a note.

_“Doing a ritual, back by dawn.”_

When did this woman sleep? She hadn’t the previous night, and they had probably gone to bed no eight hours earlier. When had she woken up?

In the grey light of looming dawn, he found a cabinet filled with the supplies needed for breakfast, before he sat down with some breakfast and one of the books.

It was still too dark too read without a light, so he sat down at the table with some candles, Dudda coming to sit on his lap.

A part of him didn’t want to read the books, because they made it real. But on the other hand he couldn’t let his dreams terrify him at night and just ignore his fears and futures during the day. He needed to be prepared.

Though could anyone be prepared for the changes he was facing?

# 🌖

Tales of Greek and Nordic mythology, and German folklore clashed, each ascribing different reasons to men becoming werewolves, and each describing different horrible tales of encounters with werewolves during the full moons. Some tales told of ways they could be treated, some of how to kill them.

He quickly dismissed those tales and grabbed a new book.

Racing through the books as fast as he could, some things became clear.

Every full moon, he’d become a wolf. With fur and sharp teeth and all animal impulses accompanying the beast.

He wouldn’t be himself at all.

He could and would hurt people.

But indeed, there was little information Esther had not given him already.

_“The werewolf is neither man nor wolf, but a satanic creature with the worst qualities of both.”_

Lovely.

Yet, although he knew if anything was in them Esther would have probably read it and told him, it helped him feel less like a victim and a bit more in charge. He could not put them down and kept looking for anything that could offer him a way out.

He’d never even liked fencing or boxing like his friends. The thought that he could actually kill people each month would be hilariously unfathomable if it weren’t an actual risk. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Yet, the ways out were as simple as they were impossible. Silver weapons to kill, and wolfsbane to weaken. To stop himself from becoming a monster, he would have to stop being anything.

Upon considering killing the werewolf who bit him was not exchanging a life for a life. It was true that if he didn’t kill the werewolf, they would both live. But if he killed the other person in time, he would prevent that werewolf from making any more victims. And he would prevent himself from becoming a murderous monster as well. In the end, he would save more people than just himself. 

He would have to kill the other man though.

Could he?

He took the last book on the pile, it was still covered in dust, like it hadn’t been opened in ages. There weren’t even fingertips around the edges that suggested Esther had as much as opened it.

He prayed the unread book held a saving piece of information they didn’t know about yet.

It was another book by an ancient Greek. They hadn’t gotten anything right about his predicament yet, so the chances were slim. Yet he couldn’t put it down. He had to read until he found that one word.

_“All through the ages, many events that have occurred in the past, and even some that occur to-day, have been generally discredited because of the lies built up on a foundation of fact. It is said, for instance, that ever since the time of Lycaon a man has changed into a wolf at the sacrifice to Lycaean Zeus, but that the change is not for life; if, when he is a wolf, he abstains from human flesh, after nine years he becomes a man again, but if he tastes human flesh he remains a beast for ever.”_

Blinking, he took notice that the page didn’t look as yellow anymore, nor did the room appear to be as dark. Pale morning light tumbled through the windows now. 

Clouds glowing pink peaked over the tree tops.

Morning had come.

And so had potential salvation.

# 🌖

The back door slammed open and Esther stumbled through, kicking off her boots. Markings covered her arms and chest, and a large blue gem which seemed to radiate from within dangled in front of her forehead from a chain in her hair. Labradorite, he’d only seen it once before in a ring the prince regent had gifted to his mistress.

‘Good morning.’

She grabbed a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around herself before facing him.

‘Doing some reading?’

‘Yes. Um, I was wondering if this one could be true?’ he asked while lifting his book.

She noticed the book she hadn’t read yet, and quickly walked over, following the trail of his finger.

‘The Greeks were to first to talk about it, but most is just stuff of legends. However, there are many legends talking about your… condition… being just a temporary thing. However, I have never heard of someone becoming human again in real life.’

‘I don’t mean insult, since I don’t know the extent of your knowledge. But how much real life knowledge do you have on werewolves?’

‘Make me tea while I freshen up, and I’ll tell you.’

With minimal directions he had little to go on, so he just rummaged the house, putting his nose and fingers in kettles to check whether they were clean and free of magical stuff, before filling it underneath the water pump outside and putting it on top of the heat.

‘I really hope I am using the tea cabinet. It looks and smells like tea. Wouldn’t really enjoy a kettle of magical herbs instead with them kicking in right as we’re talking. If she won’t have my head for it, she’ll at the very least mock me forever. It is tea, isn’t it, Dudda?’ Babington asked of the cat, who had followed him to the kitchen and was currently sitting underneath said cabinet.

She rubbed her head against his belly before lifting on her back legs and pushing a jar out of the cabinet.

How smart was this cat exactly?

Picking up the tea, he gave it a sniff. Green tea with something citrussy.

‘Ideal pick-me-up, good choice little one.’

Dudda clawed at his shoulder, pulling herself up on top of it. He knew cats liked high places, but never having had one before, it did strike him as weird that it enjoyed sitting there. However, he knew too little to know whether her behaviour was normal, so he shrugged it off.

When Esther came back she was dressed in a black dress with a warm shawl draped around her shoulders. She took the offered tea gracefully, but threw daggers at the cat.

# 🌖

‘I’ve never met one in person. But I knew there was one in the forest. However, I know I am safe, and I know everyone who visits me is very cautious about the things that lurk in the dark forest. It might very well be that despite their caution, some villagers get attacked or go missing, but as I said, I don’t really talk to people. I wouldn’t know. And I never really cared either.’

Babington wondered what the villagers had done for her to hate and avoid them that much. Were they all truly as awful as she’d told? Where was her family and how had she lived before? He had so many questions, yet he knew that if he wanted the information he needed, he had better focus on the topic at hand.

‘I feel like there’s a but?’ he tried with a smile.

She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her tea.

‘You chose the tea remarkably well’, she noticed. ‘Re-energizing blend.’

‘Credit goes to Dudda, I’m afraid.’

‘Of course.’

‘She’s… awfully intuitive, for a cat. Sometimes it feels like she actually understands me when I talk to her.’

‘She does. She’s my familiar.’

‘Your what?’

Was she family of cats? He took everything as it came, but the world was quickly becoming something else. He couldn’t fathom how the world, which he’d lived three decades in, was so different from the way he’d perceived it to be.

‘Familiar it’s… People usually think they are minor demons given to witches by the devil, from who they’ve also gotten their magic. That’s a myth, obviously. They’re spirits we witches have an emotional and psychic bond with. They’re our personal companions, and are attuned to our powers, feelings and needs. They understand us. They’re very welcome too, for most of us, family life isn’t an option, they keep us company.’

It was a comfort to hear her say she wasn’t in league with the devil. It wouldn’t have affected his treatment of her, but he was glad that he wasn’t using or coming into contact with devilish things. Did the devil even exist? Did God? Did she know?

‘Sounds nice.’

‘Yes.’

He needed a minute to collect his thoughts. He had a goal.

‘Okay, so you don’t know any personally. But have you heard of people encountering one?’

‘Yes. The first time I heard of werewolves was years ago. Before I moved here. The familiar of a warlock was attacked by one.’

‘Did it become a were-pet?’

She was not impressed by his joke.

‘It became a dead pet. And a dead familiar is just as bad as losing a family member.’

‘Anyways, we got together and were taught about werewolves, and how to kill them. I think there’s one Northern witch who has actual relationships with multiple shapeshifters and cursed beings. She might know more, I never enquired.’

‘Could she possibly know whether the nine years thing holds some truth?’

‘We should really focus on killing the werewolf, no matter that legend.’

‘I know, but if we don’t. I don’t particularly enjoy the thought of being a werewolf forever. If there’s a way to stop it afterwards, I’ll gladly take it.’

‘I can ask. There’s a gathering tomorrow night.’

Babington nodded.

‘If we don’t catch him, what do you think I should do? What _can_ I do?’

‘You said you had a country estate?’

He nodded.

‘Happen to have dungeons?’

‘Dungeons, well, kind of. Under the castle. Mostly for storage, underneath the kitchen. And then there’s the ice cellar and another one to hide in case of a siege.’

‘All attached to the castle?’

‘Yes, except the ice cellar.’

‘And that’s closed off?’

‘Yes, but it’s frequently used.’

‘A mausoleum? Rich people have that, correct?’

‘Yes. We have multiple, for future generations as well, in case the current one gets full. They’re designed in this amazing roman style with underground rooms, and the doors are excellently sealed, you never smell a thing and-‘

‘Shut up, I heard everything I needed to. That will do. If I lock the mausoleum with spells, so that nobody who enters after nightfall can enter until morning, and I protect the doors so that nobody can touch them without feeling crippling pain, and then we attach perhaps some chains to keep you from destroying the place or yourself, you and everyone else will be save. You’ll have to be at your estate every full moon though. But it seems like a small price to pay. Also, should that nine years thing be true, you’ll have an easy time becoming human again. Since you won’t be killing anything.’

Two paths lay open: trying to kill the werewolf and being free forever, and becoming a werewolf – be it for nine years or forever – but he was guaranteed to not injure a soul. It was a major relief.

‘You would do that for me?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Because… I don’t know, you don’t have to?’

And because she claimed she didn’t care about people.

‘It would be irresponsible to let another werewolf run loose. There might be other Lord Babingtons carelessly walking around during a full moon. I’d save dozens to hundreds of people and animals. You probably couldn’t live with the guilt anyways, you can barely bear to see your friends unhappy, never mind knowing you killed an innocent little lamb.’

She added the last sentence as an afterthought, but it showed just how well she knew him. She cared about his feelings.

‘I’m forever in your debt.’

‘Well, for my favourite customer’, she smirked.

‘But we’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I got an idea this morning: a way to catch the werewolf.’

‘I’m all ears.’

‘Werewolves leave a trail of victims behind. Now if I talk with the dead, find out in what surrounding villages there are stories about killed cattle and perhaps even humans being attacked by animals, we might get the potential location down to one or two villages. As I said before, they’ve created you, so you’ll be drawn to them. You can find them in a village. It would indeed take too much time to visit all villages, in case we have to prepare plan B, but this is manageable.’

‘Who says he’s from a neighbouring village?’

Esther sighed, conveying her annoyance in a look.

‘I said I knew there was a werewolf in these woods. Now, if he was a rogue wolf wandering the county, do you think he would systematically roam these woods? No. He’s here quite a lot, so that means he’s from around.’

Babington nodded. It sounded sensical. The werewolf was indeed likely to live around the forest. And indeed, the closer to his home, the more likely people were to have heard of accidents, it could help them pinpoint the location if they –

‘Wait, did you say talk to the dead?’

This got a smile from her, an unnerving one at that.

‘Yes. But don’t worry, I won’t let you get close to their ghosts. You and Dudda need to stay far away from my workspace. Don’t break the salt circles I’ll apply, don’t come in to tell me dinner is ready. Just, don’t come in at all as long as the talisman lights up green on the door.’

She was talking about the weird stone on the backdoor of her workplace. Beside the entryway used by her customers, there was an entryway hidden from sight in her workplace, from which she got in through the house.

‘Why do you have that hanging on the door?’

‘I always send the spirits back to their realm when I’m done, and do my best to cleanse the place. But I’m a medium too – which not all witches are – so on days the lines between our realms is thin, they sometimes visit me. However, they’ll remain contained within that space because of a couple of spells. Sometimes something arrives and sits there waiting for me, the talisman warns me for it.’

That sounded incredibly frightening. She was nothing short of impressive.

He doubted he would ever be so calm about ghosts visiting his house.

He still couldn’t believe he would have to deal with being a werewolf.

He didn’t yet have to be one.

It could all still change.

And if he became one, she’d make sure that he wouldn’t harm anyone.

It would not be a problem.

Or well, not a lethal problem.

He could still live his life like he’d done before, just with some prolonged trips to his family estate, which might actually be a good thing.

She’d said the days around the full moon would be a bit weird as well but during his twenties, he’d definitely wasted good chunks of the months by partying, drinking and travelling, being ‘out of it’ for a couple a days a month wasn’t a new thing. It would probably feel a bit like a prolonged hangover.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself, since he could still barely grasp the enormity of the prospect.

‘Esther, I’m really grateful.’

‘So you’ve said many times by now. You know, I would’ve been grateful if you would have just listened to me, spared us a lot of trouble.’

‘So you’ve said many times. It seems that I cannot help but be thankful of your aid, and there is now nothing to be done about what I did, my decision was made. I couldn’t pretend that I wasn’t worried. It could happen ten times, and I would have chosen to make the trip almost each time because of the person I am.’

‘They always said wisdom came with age. Maybe in those ten years, you’ll forgo the foolishness of youth’, she drawled before standing up. She made it clear that the conversation was over and that she was going upstairs, probably to wash off the markings on her body.

‘I doubt caring for others can be called the foolishness of youth, and if it is, I do not wish to become wise.’

She turned sharply, marching for the stairs.

The conversation was done.

# 🌖

Babington cleaned their two cups and by that time Esther had come downstairs, taken a large jar of salt from the kitchen, drawn a line around the back entryway of her room, and entered it.

Babington’s second day of being cursed and sojourning at the house in the middle of the woods looked to be another lonely affair. He guessed he may as well finish harvesting the garden.

Despite that an invisible force was obviously playing with the trees, there was only a faint breeze in the garden. It amazed him how many small touches of witchcraft were present everywhere.

Dudda clawed at his leg, bringing his attention back to earth.

‘Hi little one, want to come gardening with me?’

Baring his fore-arms, he set to work at a patch he hadn’t covered the previous day.

‘To be honest, I’m sure she could do the harvest with one of her tricks too. Wonder why she doesn’t?’

The cat jumped between the cabbage, rolling around in the dark brown dirt heated by the sun.

‘I Would ask her, but I’m sure she wouldn’t answer. She likes being mysterious, your woman.’

The cat purred, keeping her eyes connected to his.

‘Wonder just how much of what I’m saying you can actually understand. Would you go back and tell her all?’

The cat shook its head and fur before rubbing against his leg.

Laughing, Babington gave her a couple of rubs before pulling the next cabbage from the patch.

‘I’m deeply grateful for your secrecy. We’re friends, aren’t we, even though your mistress doesn’t always seem to like me.’

Clumps of earth were already settling underneath his nails.

‘Not that she has to be nice to me, but it would be… well, pleasant I guess. Ha, can’t even remember the last time I got my hands dirty before yesterday. Nor did I ever have to lift a finger around the house, and here she’s making me do it without even asking. If that isn’t magic!’

The sun drifted behind the clouds, but the work kept Babington warm, so he divested his coat again. By the time he was done with collecting all vegetables and fruits, he discovered the cat had fallen asleep on his still warm jacket.

If only its mistress would be as easy to please as the cat.

Unwilling to leave his jacket outside, but just as unwilling to awaken the cat, he lifted her – coat and all – and gently placed her on the couch.

There is a certain feeling of uselessness one experiences when one knows someone is busy helping them, yet they cannot do anything to help.

Babington sought useful ways to spend his day, but Esther hadn’t given him any suggestions as to what he may do, so now he found himself wondering what he was allowed to do around the house, and what would classify as overstepping his boundaries.

The sun was sinking ever lower on the blue canvas behind the trees, so he guessed the safest venture to undertake next would be supper. Though he admittedly had no idea how or even what to make.

There was no partially finished soup with the ingredients neatly laying around it this time. Dinner at his house usually consisted of soup, followed by a nicely baked piece of meat with sauce, cooked vegetables and a side of potatoes or bread, followed by a nice desert and some port. However, he wouldn’t even know where Esther kept her meat. And he very much doubted if she had meat, she would have fresh meat.

But, even if she had, he wouldn’t know how to begin. All he had in his head were images of fully formed and prepared dishes. He knew many commoners frequently ate pie’s and quiches, but hadn’t got a clue how to make it. Looking at the baskets filled with vegetables on the porch, he started wondering whether it was skill or pure magic that enabled his cooks to make a carrot cake from a bunch of carrots.

Dudda, picking up on the lord’s trouble, jumped on the counter top, clawing at a shelf until a book fell off.

‘Is this another one of your subtle nudges, little one? What have we here? _The Experienced English Housekeeper._ If this is the requirement level, I doubt I’ll be able to do whatever is in it, but let’s see hmm. There’s recipes in it. Thank you Dudda, now I only need to find one with as many ingredients I know, and as little steps I can ruin as possible. Ah, onion soup. I know where the onions are!’

_“_ **_To Make Brown Onion Soup_ ** _  
Skin and cut round ways in slices six large Spanish Onions, fry them in butter till they are a nice brown, and very tender, then take them out and lay them on a hair sieve to drain out the butter, when drained put them in a pot with five quarts of boiling water, boil them one hour and stir them often, then add pepper and salt to your taste, rub the crumbs of a penny loaf through a cullender, put it to the soup, stir it well to keep it from being in lumps, and boil it two hours more;”_

‘Three hours! What on earth! Yesterday’s soup didn’t take as long? Or did it, it was on before I got in the kitchen. Hm no, no three hours of constantly guarding it.’

He read on, until he discovered a vegetable stew he could maybe, perhaps, create himself. He recognized almost all ingredients, and it would take less than an hour.

Struggle was had, a finger was cut, vegetables slipped out of his hands as he was skinning them, and never mind how the sauce came to be. But the potatoes were boiled without trouble, though upon trying them were found to be far too soft. Yet, it was quite edible, and actually, not all that bad.

He prepared the table, but just as he was about to open the door to Esther’s room, he stopped himself. The jewel was still glowing, and light came from underneath the door.

She’d told him not to interrupt her. Given she was dealing with the dead, he felt inclined to heed her advice this time, and so ate alone, and spent the evening alone while checking her door every five minutes until on his last check, he found the jewel had gone dull.

# 🌖

He wasted no time knocking and opening the door simultaneously.

She was slumped over the table she had received him at before. An orb in front of her was misty, and the room stank of incense and burned herbs.

‘I’m sorry, I was just wondering whether you were feeling like dinner? You look like you could use it.’

This, was not a smart thing to say it appeared.

‘Why? I’ve got everything under control. I just need a drink and then I’m good to go.’

‘Surely you succeeded in talking to some people?’

It seemed to him to be the most polite way to refer to contacting the dead.

‘Of course I succeeded’, she snapped as she pushed herself away from the table to face him.

What happened next took place in under two seconds, but to Babington it happened in slow motion.

The table shook, its legs bumpily sliding across the rough tiles and grooves. The unsteady looking three-legged holder of the orb tipped over, catapulting the orb into the sky.

Babington shot forward, knee sliding and scraping across the tiles as he flung his hands out and reached.

His hands opened, rounding to fit the shape of the orb as he slid towards the table.

It was falling now.

He body flew over his knee, changing direction from front-facing, to facing the table from the side.

Esther finally reacted. Confusion clouding her face as she turned back towards the direction she had been turning away from, her face contorting in horror as she saw her orb falling.

She flung her arms towards the orb, body reaching over the table.

And that was when time sped up again.

As the orb neatly landed into his hands, Esther’s momentum made her lose balance, making her fall over the table and onto his lap, the small table uncomfortably poking her belly.

‘Good catch’, she moaned as she slithered back over the table. She rubbed her stomach, biting her lip.

‘And fast too, very fast… your reflexes must be developing’, she decided in a low voice.

Deciding not to focus on the growing effect of the bite, he instead put the table back on its feet, placing the orb back in its place.

‘No more today, you’re at your limit.’

‘And you know my limit after, what, two days of living with me and a handful of encounters? You know nothing about me.’

‘I know you’re very powerful, skilled and talented. But I also know you’ve done a lot the past couple of days. Everybody deserves a rest and some time to eat.’

‘I’ll decide when I have that rest, thank you very much.’

Yet she barely had any strength in her arms to resist him when he lifted her to her feet.

‘It was already kind enough of you to try, you needn’t sacrifice all of your day to it if you can’t find anything. Though, admittedly, you already kind of have. It’s dark outside.’

‘I found some things already. Just… mwantedtobesure’, she mumbled suppressing a yawn.

‘You’re too weak to stop me from stopping you.’

‘The entitlement! I said no. This is my house.’

‘Yes, and I apologize for pushing you,’ he explained as he pushed her through the door -making sure to close it behind them – and leading her to the sofa, ‘you can continue scolding me once you’ve mocked my attempt at dinner.’

Despite her earlier protest, she remained seated as he went to fetch her dinner and a glass of wine. Throwing daggers at him and without saying thanks, she took the plate and glass. He moved his own as well, and sat down on the couch across her.

‘Thought rich men didn’t enter the kitchen. Became an overnight wonder?’

‘Well, that’s one transformation I wouldn’t mind.’

‘Incorrigible’, she sighed.

They ate in silence for a while, and Babington was quite relieved and proud that she didn’t remark upon the food.

They were shaken from their supper by a sudden gust of widen blowing against the nearest wall, causing the wood to creak and the windows to rattle.

‘I thought the weather was regulated around your home.’

‘It is. Well, was. It’s one of the continuous spells’, she admitted. The way she said it lead him to believe she was confessing something with shame.

‘Continuous?’

‘You’ve noticed the wall around my garden was laced with magic. That’s because I’ve done a very strong protective spell a couple of years ago, it’s one I renew every four years. That spell decreases in strength with time, but very slowly. Those spells are cast, and then I’m done with them. Then there’s spells like weather spells. Those tap into my magic as long as I keep it up. Same with making the dishes do the dishes, and the piano. They’re a continuous drain. So when I get tired… They sometimes… Well.’

She shrugged, averting her eyes.

She was indeed tired then. The wind didn’t stop beating against the house. It was nothing too harsh, it wouldn’t affect the crops, but it was audible, and caused the house to groan a bit, but it was actually comforting to hear it. The absence of nature’s sounds had made the silence in the house quite sterile and weird. He always enjoyed the sound of the wind beating against the windows or rain hitting the roof.

‘I have another question, what do you do to entertain yourself at night?’

‘Probably the same things you do?’

‘I play cards, chess, go to the theatre, go to an opera.’

‘What’s an opera?’

‘They’re performing a story on stage, but they’re singing all their text.’

She wasn’t impressed.

‘I read. Learned to play cards by myself because of boredom. Or I make the piano play. When someone comes over I play boardgames or just talk.’

She seemed to be a bit more relaxed now. The tension had left her shoulders, her face resting on her drawn-up knees. Her tiredness and the food had probably mellowed her out a little.

‘Would you wish to do something right now?’

‘Like what?’

‘Do you wish to play… a game?’

‘No. And I’m not feeling like playing the piano.’

She was too tired to play the piano, he understood.

‘I could play? I’ve been taught to do a decent enough job.’

‘By all means, Lord Babington, show me what those expensive teachers managed to teach you.’

The first notes were played awkwardly, trying to find the notes again as he thought of songs she might enjoy. But once he found a song, the notes came easily. Usually, he only played during parties, when the ladies insisted on singing and having the men lead them.

After the first song he turned around to gauge her reaction.

‘You may continue, it’s decent.’

It was actually quite relaxing, to spend the evening in the small cosy living room, belly filled with food he made himself, with Esther watching him. His evenings were usually spent in much bigger company, with a lot of drinks and laughter. They were pleasant, but never this peaceful. He wouldn’t mind to spend more evenings like this, if he was honest with himself. But did she enjoy the disruption of her usual routine?

When he looked back the next time, she was minutes removed from falling asleep.

His heart dropped a little, but he knew he shouldn’t hold it against her.

‘Perhaps I should stop bothering you.’

‘No, no it’s fine. It was… good.’

‘You’re falling asleep.’

‘I’m not’, she protested, but the comment didn’t land since she could barely open her eyes.

She was so incredibly stubborn.

He couldn’t help but smile.

He had to be honest with himself at all times, and she couldn’t even admit the smallest thing. She had to sleep though, she had that gathering tomorrow, and he doubted those kinds of gatherings took place during the afternoon. She would need her sleep tonight.

He felt like he was overstepping about a hundred of her boundaries, but he couldn’t help but walk over to her.

‘You can tell me all about how tired you aren’t while I carry you to bed.’

‘You’re wrong, I’m fine. I know I’m fine… I’m fine’, she objected verbally, but didn’t even try to push him away as he lifted her and carried her upstairs.

‘Of course, you are more than fine. Just tired’, he agreed as he laid her down on the bed.

‘The food was alright tonight’, she admitted as she propped herself up against the headboard.

‘Why thank you, it was a challenge and I’m pleased it wasn’t horrible. Thanks for helping me again today.’

‘I think I’ve gotten it down to one or two potential villages.’

‘That’s good.’

She nodded, and they were both lost for what to say next. In the silence that followed, Babington became increasingly aware of the fact that he was standing in a woman’s bedchamber, so after another awkward nod, he crossed the room towards the door.

‘Hey.’

He turned around again at the sound of her voice.

‘You haven’t brushed my hair yet today.’ She had schooled her voice to be haughty and cool as she held out the brush.

He bit his tongue and supressed a smile.

‘Forgive me.’

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’

‘I wouldn’t dare’, he swore solemnly as he sat down on the side of the bed.

She turned her back to him, and allowed her head to rest against his chest as he set out to brush her coppery locks.

He didn’t know what to call it, or even if he should call it something, but it felt like a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes:  
> \- Esther is wearing a labradorite necklace. That stone is frequently used for shielding one’s general aura. Many people also use it in relation to psychic abilities and it can also mean incredible powers that make users experience visions and heightened states of consciousness. So since I'm deliberately keeping everyone out of Esther's thoughts so that we're all as clueless as our dear Basil B, you can make up for yourselves what she was trying to do outside.  
> \- Dudda's her familiar! Anyone saw that one coming?
> 
> Have a nice week everyone!


	5. A Life for a Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy full moon and a nice working week!

“Fairies, black, grey, green, and white,  
You moonshine revellers, and shades of night,  
You orphan heirs of fixed destiny,  
Attend your office and your quality.”  
**\- William Shakespeare**  
The Merry Wives of Windsor.

Underneath the waning gibbous moon, darkness crept into Basil Babington’s bedroom, silently slipping into his dreams.

He was running through the woods again, racing feet speeded by fear and panicc the dried leaves underneath them. He knew that whatever was behind him was growing nearer. His heart was beating frantically, but there was hope. He knew he was approaching the house. Her house. Once again the fence appeared through the thinning treeline. He was close to safety. This time she was waiting for him, in that pretty ballroom dress. She opened her gates for him.

The wolf howled, and his fear grew. The beast was coming closer while Esther was leaving the safety of her grounds behind her. She sported the same thinly veiled smile he loved. He wanted to warn her for the beast, but a vicious growl overpowered his voice. He sped up even more. He needed to get them both to safety before the wolf attacked. As he came within range, he reached out to push her away.

Giant paws connected with her thin shoulders, pushing her to the ground. His cry of agony was once again inaudible because of a loudhloud Dread settled into his stomach. He was the one who was howling. He had become the wolf. Her face turned fearful as she slipped away from him. She was back on her grounds. The door slammed shut. A closed fence now stood between them. He was alone.

🌖

He wasn’t able to shake off the fear that night, only when the morning mist arrived, the nightmare released its hold of him. The lack of sleep was starting to have its effects, leaving him with sore muscles and a fuzzy head. The adrenaline of the nightmare had worn off, and sleepiness replaced his fear. He knew he was tired and not as attentive as would’ve been good. However, he didn’t believe he was so tired his mind was able to interpret reality so wrongly that he would see what he was seeing now.

There they sat, and there they stood. One fellow tall and proud, skin as white as a sheet, and hair as blue as the sky, another male with green skin and clothes made of metal and tree bark, antlers rising up from the top of his head. A third sat down, flowers growing between her hair with layers upon layers of fabric as light as veils covering her reclining form, a fourth figure sat in front of the piano, eliciting a divine melody from the instrument with his claws. His eyes were purple, as were his clothes, a wreath of autumn leaves placed on his head like a crown.

They noticed him as he noticed them, interest piqued, and the witch dressed in an ornate blue dress gifted by them was all but forgotten.

‘Who is this, fresh flesh?’ the white and blue one crooned.

‘He’s with me, back off’, Esther huffed as she walked over to Babington to hand him a cup of golden tea.

‘He’s with you?’ the female asked with interest.

‘Blodeuwedd, you know what I mean. He is of no interest of yours.’

‘It is of our interest if this forest has a new resident’, the fearsome green creature decided.

‘I’m sorry, but may I ask why you’re here?’

‘Collecting the potions we’ve ordered and the information we needed our darling dearest Esther to get’, the green creature explained.

‘And to ask her to tell and ask a couple of things during her coven meeting tonight’, the female smiled.

‘Remember how I told you about fairies? They’re them.’

‘You did not answer though, is he a resident?’ The green creature pressed on.

‘No, he’s not Gwydion. He’s a guest. And honestly, we don’t need to explain ourselves to you.’

‘They are curious Esther, because his scent is off. This is no human, yet, not quite one of us either’, the creature behind the piano said. His voice was low and intimidating, befitting of one of his stature: tall, proud and broad of shoulder. His purple garments were decorated with iron scales and ornaments, making him look like a fairy knight.

They could smell him and his nature, Babington realised with shock. The announcement made him take a step back. He didn’t show any signs of being infected by the werewolf. He looked like a normal man, and his bandages were covered by his shirt and closed coat.

‘Yes, what is he, actually?’ The white fairy asked.

‘I’m standing right here’, Babington commented, growing annoyed with how he was being discussed like some sort of freak show attraction while they were the ones with antlers and pointy ears the size of human hands.

‘He’s human’, Esther declared coolly. ‘Now, can we continue?’

‘These woods are filled with all kinds of creatures, we coexist in harmony despite the significant differences between our kinds. However some are more sentient and peaceful than others.’

‘Well, if you care so much about that Peredur, you could’ve done something about it. You had no trouble letting that werewolf run loose the past few years. You’re the ones who are skilled in combat, not me. That wolf finally got around to biting someone and suddenly now he’s a problem? This is a problem you could have prevented.’

‘I didn’t say that, Esther’, Peredur frowned as he reached out for her. She eyed his hand on her shoulder with a frown.

‘So defensive’, Blodeuwedd tutted with a smile.

‘You insinuated he was dangerous, while for the moment he is human and we are trying to prevent him from becoming anything more than that. Furthermore, you’re insulting my guest and prying into my affairs. We’ve had great times together, all while respecting each other and each other’s boundaries. Let’s keep it that way.’

‘Of course, we apologize. We were merely curious. You know how we respect guests.’

‘When we don’t lure them to our realm or eat them’, Gwydion laughed silently.

‘Well, I am genuinely interested in the first human who gets to spend time with our dear friend. What’s your name?’

Babington opened his mouth but before he could answer he felt Esther’s hand on his chest.

‘Don’t… answer that.’

‘Oh he really is human’, the icy looking fairy grinned before downing a cup of glowing red liquid.

‘You don’t tell fairies your name, you absolute fool’, Esther articulated slowly before rolling her eyes at him. Her words did ring a bell, he’d heard that before.

‘You may call me Cat Friend, since I’ve spent most of my time here with her’, Babington finally decided as his eye fell on Dudda, who sat on the kitchen counter and didn’t look like she was about to come any closer to the gorgeous but wild looking creatures in the living room.

The female’s eyes lit up as she absorbed the new information.

‘Pleased to meet you, Cat Friend. You learn quickly.’

‘One must if one continuously finds themselves in new situations with little time to process everything.’

‘That’s true. And you will need that skill the next twenty-six days. Luckily, quick learners are quick adapters too.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I quite understand.’

‘You will, in time.’

‘Our little flower’s a seer’, Gwydion explained.

‘And they love teasing humans with vague slips of information about their lives and futures’, Esther sighed.

‘It’s amazing to see how people deal with it in a myriad of ways, really. Some are quite good at guessing the meaning, like our Lady Witch, others panic and try to act out or act against what they’ve heard’, Gwydion said.

‘Well, to each their form of entertainment’, Babington laughed and he found his laughter echoed by the others present.

‘Oh you are a darling’, Blodeuwedd exclaimed.

She was a supernatural beauty, with skin as white as a lily and cheeks and lips stained a lovely deep shade of pink. Her eyes were the same blue as the cornflowers growing between her dark hair.

‘Esther, could we finish our business elsewhere, outside perhaps?’ the fairy knight asked.

After threatening the others not to trick her guest, she left.

The three descended upon him like vultures.

‘So how did you get to stay with her?’ Gwydion asked. ‘She never has humans over.’

Babington didn’t know whether it was wise to tell the fairies a lot since even telling them his name was a bad thing. But he considered the answer to be quite harmless. It didn’t tell them anything about Esther or himself.

‘I got attacked and she allowed me to stay as I healed.’

‘Oh, healing you say, but can’t she cure anything in a matter of minutes to days?’ the female asked.

‘Not these apparently.’

‘Oh yes, venom, right. So how long ago was that?’

‘A couple of days.’

‘Did you know her before that?’

‘A little bit, we’d met a couple of times before?’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Fertility fairies’, the pale one sighed.

Babington stored the information but awaited her answer before saying anything.

‘Have you two, you know?’ she asked.

‘Excuse me what?’

‘Humans, ugh. Have you two had sex yet?’

Babington’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.

‘It’s fine. We don’t care or mind. Well, maybe Peredur will, since they have a thing.’

Babington’s eyes inadvertently slid towards the kitchen door they had exited through. That huge fairy, with its sharp nails and inhuman beauty. He was just as intimidating, scary and beautiful as her, yet it felt… wrong. It was clear she had a different relationship with him than she had with the rest of the fairies, but … something gnawed at him. He didn’t want to think of it.

‘What kind of fairy is he?’

‘An autumn one, they’re born hunters. In every way of the word.’

‘Doesn’t mind harvesting’, the pale one grinned.

A barely audible growl, almost like a dissatisfied cat, erupted from his throat. Dudda was at his feet in an instant while the fairies appraised him with sharp looks. His hands shot towards his throat. Had that been him, truly? And why?

No it shouldn’t be him! He was human. He couldn’t and shouldn’t be growling twenty-six days before the full moon.

‘You know, I’ve actually never talked to a human before,’ Blodeuwedd carried on.

‘Have you never encountered them?’

‘I have… But like, when they walked through a fairy circle or plucked a flower or something. So you know, it was never in a casual setting. And I’ve never managed to lure on with my lights in the forest, since no humans come there after dark.’

‘What did you do with the humans then?’

‘Do you want to know?’

‘I asked. Don’t – should I not want to know?’

‘Well, we can’t lie and the truth might shock you.’

‘I think I’ll pass.’

‘You’re so cute. I’d kiss you if Esther wouldn’t mind. I’ve never actually kissed a mortal before.’

‘Why would she mind?’

In hindsight, there were many things he could have said which wouldn’t have lead to her assuming he wouldn’t object. But he hadn’t thought of what his words insinuated, while he hadn’t actually contemplated what she wanted to do.

He completely missed the glint in her eyes, and through his tiredness neither heard the kitchen door opening when Blodeuwedd’s lips connected with his.

Fairies had a million and one ways to lure humans. Lights, flowers and mimicking parties and dinners in the woods were only the most distant of ways. One kiss was enough to completely enrapture someone and make them desperate to do their bidding.

Time lost meaning, awareness of his body disappeared, everything simply became a pleasant buzz in a world which existed only of coloured splashes and physical sensation. Until he heard a definitely feline hiss. Dudda was angry. He’d never heard her angry before. Immediately realizing what was happening, he pushed against the shoulders of the fairy. The world turned cold and dark again, and he found himself in the filled living room again. The female fairy looked positively shocked, and the other two nearby fairies appeared to be flabbergasted.

However, that wasn’t what he focussed on. Instead, he immediately turned towards where he’d last seen Esther. She’d returned with her lover, or whatever he was, and looked beyond annoyed. Shame and guilt immediately wrecked through him.

‘Out. We’re done.’

Her voice was ice sharp. She didn’t even sound annoyed or bored anymore.

He’d imposed on her hospitality, a position he could only accredit to his own stupidity, and now he’d insulted her by getting caught up with her friends, who had more right to be in her home than he did.

‘Not. You’, she hissed.

Babington halted halfway through the kitchen, slowly – as if someone had forbidden him to look – he turned over his shoulder. The fairies were staring at Esther in shock, but nevertheless stood.

‘You with your stupid ideas. Just a heads up, as a fertility goddess you’re supposed to make others crazy with lust, not yourself. He isn’t even a dyn golygus.’

‘But the hormones’, she murmured before she started talking in an even more hushed voice. She halted at the door after her two companions had went through.

‘Just so you know, he shouldn’t have been able to push away’, she cried out before leaving. Whatever game she was playing, the two humans didn’t catch on.

‘Esther?’

‘We’ll see each other again’, she decided.

It was not the way Babington had expected anyone to treat someone they’d apparently shared the bed with, but there it was, a cold shoulder and an aloof expression.

And with that, the fourth fairy disappeared as well.

‘Classical fairies, told them to treat you with respect and not to trick you but I didn’t explicit.’

‘I’m sorry. I – I don’t know why I… Or why she suddenly wanted to. I didn’t even say yes it just kind of happened and –‘

‘Babington, you don’t need to explain. She could’ve had you undressed and on your knees if she wanted to. Getting you involved in a kiss doesn’t technically count as trickery since she doesn’t have to do anything, but honestly with her pheromones and looks she doesn’t need to.’

‘It wasn’t that.’

Esther quirked an eyebrow.

‘I mean, she was pretty but I didn’t… I, it was just her kissing me, really.’

‘Hmph, there’s only about two to three ways a human can refuse, must be because the venom works like some kind of magic.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘A human is only able to reject temptation from a fairy because he’s protected by a charm or spell or a physical attribute, or when they’re already experiencing those feelings for someone else. I of course was never bothered by them because I was a witch. The second you stop being the most normal of humans, their tricks start losing their effect. Hm, might be that too, since they already smelled your change.’

‘About that.’

‘Ah yes. The location. Well, you haven’t had breakfast yet. I suggest you have it now. I have the location on a map. It’s like a one hour drive. You can spend the entirety of the day there, kill the wolf, and… Head to an inn.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not following?’

‘Once you kill the wolf, you’ll be free of your curse. There’s no reason for you to come back. It’ll only be a matter of time for your wounds to heal and life to continue as it always had. I’ll get the hint, you’re cured… or the wolf has killed you’, she smiled feebly at that. ‘But he’ll still be weak after his full moon, perhaps even more since you attacked him.’

‘You’re not coming?’

‘You can do it on your own. And I need to head over to my coven in three hours, I won’t be back before midnight.’

‘Right. Maybe I can come back to confirm?’

‘If you insist… But during daytime hours!’

‘Yes, of course.’ He chewed his lip as she rummaged the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. His hands stilled where they’d been pulling at his shirt.

‘Perhaps I should put my old clothes back on? So you can have these back.’

‘The torn ones? You can keep the ones you have right now. Perhaps you can take your bag though. You can go get it, by then your breakfast will be ready. I’ll be transforming your horse back right away.’

‘My horse?’

He’d come on horseback. How hadn’t he thought about his horse before? It had been at the fence right when he passed out days ago. He hadn’t seen it since. How could he just forget his horse?

‘I couldn’t have a horse trampling my grass and chewing my vegs, so I transformed her into a chicken.’

‘You truly are remarkable… and ever so frightening.’

It earned him a satisfied smirk, and that at least allowed him to push aside all feelings and memories of the earlier part of the morning.

🌖

His bag was packed, a wrapped lunch resting inside it. His horse was still a bit agitated and restless, shaking her head with fervour. Esther said it was a remnant from her time as a chicken and that it would disappear within the next couple of hours. He was holding her reigns as he stood right in front of the gate, nervously eying the forest path. Shafts of light illuminate the motes of dust floating above the dirt path and turn leaves a glowing green.

He hadn’t left the property since his attack. And since he’d repressed everything, all trauma came flooding right back as he stood there at the fence. The fence might as well have been twenty foot high, and the road in front of him made of burning coal.

‘Basil?’

Squaring his shoulders, determined not to let the trembling fear slip through during what was undoubtedly going to be their last moment together. He forced a smile.

‘Here.’

She procured a pendant from between her hands. In the middle hung a giant round opal with a selenite wrapped in curly metal swirls halfway the chord on each side. He intuitively bowed his head so she could easily hang the pendant around his neck.

‘For protection, both in your endeavours and during your travels. And to keep the evil spirits at bay. And there’s silver bullets in your bag. Don’t forget to put them in. Only silver bullets work.’

‘Esther I – I don’t even know where to begin.’

‘You’re thankful, I know. I’ve heard’, she smirked.

‘You really are one mighty woman. In every meaning of the word.’

She nodded, her throat bobbing.

‘Yeah, good luck. Don’t get eaten. Would be a shame after all my effort.’

‘I’ll try to not let it be in shame.’

🌖

Maybe it was because she was watching him, maybe it was because of the pendant, but he found the strength to hop on his horse and ride off. And rode he did, at neck breaking speed until he was out of the shadow of the forest. Just the sight of uninterrupted trees was enough to get him nervous.

He found the village quickly.

The wolf had to be here, perhaps in the next house, perhaps strolling across the market, perhaps sleeping underneath a nice apple tree. The hairs on his arms rose.

The one responsible for his misfortune dwelt here. Someone capable of killing.

And if he didn’t kill him, he would become a killer beast himself.

One life, to save another and perhaps countless more.

In a matter of hours, he would be rid of the curse the elves could already smell on him. Rid of the reflexes and enhanced sense of smell he already had, and rid of Esther. No more sleeping over at her place, no more shared suppers, no more staring at her lovely copper curls and deep brown eyes.

It was almost enough to make him turn, but then he thought of his friends and the possible victims he’d make, and of his estate which needed a heir. He needed to do this.

‘Excuse me, madam, do you have a moment to talk?’

‘Not really, need long?’

‘Um, no, it’s fine. I’m sorry’, he decided.

He could feel his heart beating in his chest. He was losing control over his emotions quickly, which could probably be blamed on the lack of sleep. Not allowing himself to change his mind, he quickly approached the next person.

How did one go about asking whether someone knew where the local werewolf lived? One could hardly straight out ask “Good day madam, might I enquire as to whether you know where the local werewolf resides?”.

In the end, all it took was asking a farmer whether someone had gotten hurt recently. In London, everyone would have shrugged that question off. Even if they knew of someone who’d gotten hurt recently, the chances were zero that they’d be the same person he was looking for. However, he wasn’t in London.

‘Yeah, John the Sheep farmer’, the man said while leaning across his cabbages. ‘Got back a few days ago. He takes his sheep away to graze each month, but he just returned and saw Jack, wife’s best friend’s husband, he’s our local physician. Ye know him?’

‘Yes, we’ve met before.’

The man nodded slowly, examining Babington.

‘He’s at his house, he’s not really social.’

It was clear from his face that although he knew the man, he didn’t have a friendly relationship with him, and was wondering who this stranger was that apparently did.

‘Might I ask where that house stands?’

The first two turns he took were about as far as he managed to get based on the man’s instructions. After that he bumped into a running child, was almost overrun by a cart, and promptly forgot the next instructions. But looking around, he suddenly felt something.

The pungent smell he’d first scented that night in the woods was back. A smell he, until now, didn’t even know he’d noticed and remembered. And then there was the sense of unease as the hairs on his arms rose.

He followed the scent on instinct. He didn’t know where the scent came from, but his body did, and it took him through the city and out in the open, between acres and beyond three small farms, before the shivers and stench reached an all-time high. That was when he knew the house he was facing was his house.

His dagger was strapped to his hip, his sword hidden in the satchel hanging from his horse.

And a gun was resting right in the deep pocket of his coat.

The time had come.

Objectively, he knew that what he was about to do was the best possible decision. It wasn’t a great decision, but between the options he had, it was the best one.

A gun, a blade, a dagger. Three options but they all lead to the same thing: death.

Murder.

He’d had thought provoking discussions with his philosophy professor in college during their discussion on ethics. There had been those believing man to be naturally good, and those who believed man was naturally bad. Class had started with easy moral dilemmas. Helping a person cheat on a test, telling lies… It had grown more difficult afterwards. They had to honestly think on whether they would turn themselves in if they committed a crime, whether they would sacrifice themselves to save a loved one, or to save an unknown child.

But the final question had been whether they would kill a man if they could save two others with it. The teacher had given them ten minutes to make a decision and write down their reasons.

Babington wondered whether the question was meaningfully altered if the man in question was already a killer himself.

He had been the only one who, at the end of the ten minute mark, still had an empty sheet of paper.

Now the time had come to write down his answer.

Did the intentions and results excuse the means?

Can an immoral act be an ethical one?

Are bad and bad two different things?

What is man capable of?

Do the needs of the many outweigh the rights of the few?

Can anyone become a killer when pushed in the right way?

Could he kill one man, who had killed animals and humans before, to save himself and all potential victims the both of them could make?

Was there truly no other way?

Shoes filled with lead, he encouraged his horse to cross the last few yards.

The house was tiny, probably holding no more than two rooms, and the wooden planks comprising the door, didn’t exactly fit the doorway.

A poor man.

An extra pound of guilt crawled on top of Babington’s shoulders, nestling itself there with the others.

‘Coming.’

He could hear shuffling.

The werewolf had a name.

The werewolf had a job.

The werewolf had a voice.

The werewolf was a man.

Just like him.

The door was opened hesitantly.

A man appeared between the opened door and the doorway.

He was in his forties, with tan skin and pale scars littering his hairy arms. He looked tired and skinny.

Babington hadn’t spent any time on creating a mental image. But he had never thought the ginormous beast would be a scrawny lonely man past his prime.

‘So it has happened. It was bound to happen once.’

Whatever had made Babington notice him, it worked in the reverse direction as well.

‘I know why you’ve come.’

He limped back to a homemade table and chair in what counted as both his living room and his bedroom.

Dirty strips of bloodied cloth were wrapped around his middle, at almost the exact place where Esther had wrapped a fresh set of bindings around him that morning. Turned out they’d both left their mark on the other.

‘I am sorry. You smell… Familiar. I have no memories of certain nights… but I met you, didn’t I?’

Babington nodded, too stunned to speak.

‘I’ve never before met someone who met that side of me.’

Babington took place on a stool.

‘I’ve seen bodies though. I guess it was only a matter of time before someone was as unfortunate as to escape.’

‘Unfortunate’, Babington repeated. After the attack, he’d spent days at Esther’s which were anything but unfortunate. But he knew what he was referring to.

Esther herself had seemed to detest werewolves. When she talked about it, it appeared to be as bad as dying.

‘Death is merciful. You die a human. You die a good person. If you live to tell the tale, you become the tale, both the hunted and the hunter.’

‘Is it… really awful?’

‘Whatever you think you know, it’s worse.’

‘Have you ever… killed someone?’

‘I don’t know many I’ve killed. Even if I don’t find proof of killings, I live with the possibility that I could’ve killed anything and anyone, their remains could lie somewhere decaying in the forest for all I know.’

‘So you don’t remember?’

‘Sometimes a fragment, one image frozen in time or a feeling, an impression, but nothing coherent, and everything I remember gets drowned in the pain and fatigue following the transformation.’

Babington clung onto every word, desperation seeping deeper into his skin with each word the man said. It was everything he’d read and worse. This man wore the skin of a human, a pitiable human even, yet, each month he transformed into a killer without ethical code or humanity, cursed to sin for eternity. A fate he would share. A life filled with terror, both for the cursed and anyone who encountered him during full moons.

A fate incompatible with any life.

‘I guess death will be a mercy. Unfortunately, I don’t have the means to kill myself.’

The man looked at him, a thin smile on his lips.

‘But I have a sense judgement day has arrived for me.’

Babington procured the gun.

He prayed the man would have just attacked him. Then he would have at least felt justified in his use of violence.

‘I’ve been shot before. It didn’t work.’

‘It will work now’, Babington explained.

The older man nodded.

‘You seem like a nice fellow. I’m sorry I put you through this. But at least now it will finally end. I should have failed at killing a long time ago.’

Babington looked away, standing up and preparing the gun.

It clicked. Ready to charge.

‘Go ahead.’

🌖

At two in the night, Esther slipped through the kitchen door, shaking off the October chill which had seeped through her black clothes during the flight home. The forty minute flight out in the cold and windy night had sobered her up significantly.

She plopped down in front of the fireplace, where some embers were still burning, to untie her boots. She could still feel the magic thrumming in her veins, and hear the music in her ears.

Sleep would do her good, after today’s events.

She janked off her boots, staring into the flames.

Tomorrow all would be back to normal.

She had needed the wine after saying goodbye to Babington. She loathed to admit her soft spot for him. She’d never needed anyone in her life, and still didn’t, but he’d been such a welcome presence. Their conversations, their games, and even just the knowledge that someone else was around had been so incredibly comforting. She’d never realized how keenly she had missed human contact, how alone she truly was.

The silence after his departure had been too much. She’d made the piano to play the most obnoxiously loud and joyful tunes until she had to leave for the gathering, but the notes hadn’t filled the emptiness he left behind.

‘He’s probably already half on his way to London’, she smiled as she disentangled the crown of berry vines and leaves from her hair. Her curls were tousled and tangled from the flight but there would be no Babington to brush them now.

All magic came at a price, that much she knew.

And by helping Babington to get rid of his curse, she had given up on having him around.

The woods were now freed of their werewolf, and Babington would get to live a full and normal human life. It was what was best. It was what he deserved. Never had she met someone so worthy of being wealthy, happy and healthy.

He was the only human who’d even bothered to be nice to her, he’d even put up with her continuous bad and cold behaviour. He, a lord, had cooked her meals and tended to her garden and hair with a care and gentleness she’d never encountered before.

It was foolish, but how could she not have developed a soft spot for him? She’d done everything to keep her distance, but all had failed.

But she would allow herself to be honest with herself today and admit she’d caught a small amount of unprofessional feelings for the human. And she would admit she was annoyed Blodeuwedd had been able to kiss him during the hour she was at her house while she hadn’t had the opportunity.

And she would allow herself to admit that part of the reason why she’d drank so much and had dealt with coven leader Edward so poorly had been because of her sadness.

She’d skipped the party and everybody hooking up, as they did after each gathering. Ginna had encouraged her to stay, convinced getting laid might be able to distract her.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve been with anyone. When it’s been that long, everyone around you becomes more tempting. Come on, party, have a drink. In a couple of months you’ll be over it. No better cure for love than distance.”

She’d been wrong though, just the thought of other men made her stomach turn. She hadn’t even been able to flirt with Peredur this morning. So after making some small talk over a couple of drinks she’d gone home. No doubt the party would continue until the sun broke through the clouds tomorrow morning.

‘Meow.’

‘Hey girl, how’s your night been?’

She pressed her head against Esther’s thigh.

‘You haven’t had dinner yet, have you? Let me get you some scraps of meat from that chicken lying in the icebox, hmm? Then we’ll go to bed.’

Having fed her furry baby, she slowly climbed upstairs. They’d done a couple of group spells and dances, leaving her somewhat tired.

The landing was dark, only the smallest bit of moonlight streaming into the wooden corridor through the crack in her bedroom door. There were only three rooms upstairs, a storage room, her bedroom and the now unoccupied guestroom.

After fleeing the human world following the death of her parents, she’d sworn she’d never let a human hurt her again. But had there been any use in being aloof with Babington after it had become clear he meant no harm?

Without realising it, she’d come to rest her head and hand against the door. But she couldn’t go in. She wasn’t pathetic enough to lie down on his sheets just yet.

A voice told her to go in anyway, not because of silly emotions but just… to verify he’d taken everything home with him. Her hand was already pushing down the handle before she stopped herself. She would not indulge in moping.

Taking three resolute steps away from the door, she threw open her own bedroom door. Marching to her vanity with purpose, she took off her dress and picked up her brush to comb out the knots. She carelessly slammed the brush in the middle of her locks and pulled. She didn’t keep in the hiss of pain following her reckless combing.

Pulling the brush out, she decided it was better to section her hair. Her reflection stared back at her, hair windswept and eyes and eyebrows dark with kohl pencil and brown powder. Witches didn’t adhere to society’s rules of beauty. She liked to paint herself, it felt like putting on a battle mask. She felt powerful and confident with it, but right now even the makeup didn’t help.

She was startled by the click of metal and the soft creaking of a door. Then, the groan of the flooring in the landing.

Someone was in the house, impossible as it was. No one could enter without her permission. Unless.

Her eyes flew to the corridor, the door was still wide open. A figure dressed in pants and a flowy shirt stood halfway between her door and the guest room.

Her eyes travelled over his legs, and climbed up the opal and moonstone talisman resting against his broad chest.

The moonlight illuminated his round cheeks and curly hair.

Babington

‘I thought you’d promised to travel safely.’

‘I got here before sunset.’

He said he’d return.

Now she could at least sleep peacefully knowing the wolf hadn’t killed him.

‘Very well.’

He hesitantly walked towards her room, coming to a standstill at the door, as if there was still an invisible door holding him back.

Since he was here, now really for the last time, she might as well use the time they had left and indulge herself. She could deal with her confusing feelings afterwards.

‘I’m afraid I’ve tangled my hair again.’

He crossed the threshold and took place behind her.

‘Allow me.’

‘Be my guest’, she replied as he handed her the brush.

The following silence was just as thick and suffocating as the one this morning, yet it felt completely different.

Tense, charged and intimate.

His fingers slipped through her hair his thumbs, index fingers and middle fingers carefully pulling the curls apart to create sections. She bit her lip, imaging those fingers making that exact move elsewhere.

Taking the brush, he started brushing out the knots, working his way upwards section by section.

‘Had a good day?’

‘Hmph, it was fine. Decided not to stick around for the party though.’

‘Why?’

His eyes connected with hers in the mirror, before her eyelids fluttered shut as he brushed the entire length of her hair, the bristles massaging her scalp and tickling the back of her neck.

‘Distracted’, she explained as the brush slid down her shoulders. She could feel the thicker hairs prickling the skin of her back through her nightdress.

‘So I wasn’t interested in their company.’

She could feel his fingers slipping underneath her hair, sliding over her neck before he gathered the already combed part to lay it over her shoulder. He stroked it down. She bit her lip, only a thin slip of cotton and a couple of curls were between his hand and her breast.

‘Have you put some kind of oil on your hair?’ he asked softly as he took the next part for a brush through.

‘Rosemary and rose oil. It could use the moisture, otherwise it would have become frizzy on top of tangled tonight.’

‘We can’t have that’, he laughed.

‘No indeed. What a sight I would be. An insult to my kind, able to fix everything with magic but can’t do anything about my hair’, she laughed, but it caught in her throat as the brush got stuck on a knot.

He immediately stopped his movement, his fingers coming up to slowly pull apart the knot. She could feel them working against her back. She couldn’t help but lean her head back to the side he was working on.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine if you solve it like this.’

Their eyes connected again in the mirror. A stubble had grown on his cheeks since he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and dressed in only the pants, shirt and amulet, he looked like any other man. Even the men at her coven meeting tonight. Though most of them didn’t wear white. Leave it to the sexist pigs to think white and white magic was solely the domain of women.

He slowly removed his fingers from her hair again, letting the brush run down the entire length of her hair again. It was all done.

Sliding his fingers down her temples, taking the hair lying on both side of her shoulders to the back again, Esther couldn’t help softly purring.

She pointedly avoided his look in the mirror. His hands slid towards the back of her skull, his thumbs connecting while his longer fingers slid towards her face again.

She bit her lip as the nails of his fingers dragged back towards his thumbs.

And again.

Shivers ran down her arms, her head lulling backwards.

It collided with his abdomen.

Her breath hitched, heat spreading through her body. But there was no room for shame and contemplation as he continued his massage, diligently tracing circles around her temples.

She allowed her eyes to remain closed as his hands gently but with enough pressure massaged her scalp, slowly working their way down the back of her head towards her neck. Her body instinctively lifted, she could feel his hands hesitate, before his fingers slowly slipped from her neck down her chest, to cup her breasts.

If she’d fallen asleep in front of the fireplace downstairs and this was a dream, she did not wish to wake up.

She didn’t stop the moan tumbling from her lips.

‘Esther.’

Her eyes opened, she could see the look burning in his eyes, the same desire fighting to break through the last remnants of restraint.

She tore away from his hands so she could stand and press herself against him.

He immediately grabbed at her, hands encircling the curves of her hips.

She didn’t feel the need the look, she’d looked at him aplenty. Now she wanted to feel him. His lips were warm and solid against hers, and his body was one taut muscle about to snap. Her hands didn’t waste time gently stroking his arms or touching his hair. They made quick work of his shirt, ready to indulge in prolonged touches. His body was nothing she hadn’t seen before, but now she could finally allowed her hands to map him out, nails brushing across his broad shoulders, and down his soft sides. He was a lovely change from the hard unyielding muscle of Peredur.

He wasn’t quiet either, humming and moaning and growling depending on the kind of touches she used.

‘Oh god.’

‘Oh no, this is all us’, she grinned as she pushed him towards the bed. He took the hint and laid down on the sheets. Nervous energy coursed through her veins and down her spine as she drank him in.

‘You’re enchanting’, he breathed as he climbed further on the bed.

‘Maybe I am’, she replied as she climbed onto the sheets towards him.

‘Perhaps I’ve put a spell on you.’

She took his chin between his fingers.

‘You’re mine tonight.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture above is my personal Dudda, but more about that below. We're ending this chapter of the story, we're starting to head towards the finale now. Are you excited?
> 
> Now onto the notes:  
> \- Fairies are said to appear most during foggy mornings and late and night, that’s why there’s fog at the beginning of the chapter 😊
> 
> \- Blodeuwedd is a figure in Welch mythology, she was made out of flowers, and her name means “face of flowers”.  
> \- Gwydion means born of trees in Welsh.  
> \- Dyn golygus is Welsh for ‘attractive man’, I thought since I named the fairies after Welsh mythological creatures, I might as well keep up with it. 
> 
> \- Dudda is an Old English name meaning round, subtle way of me calling the cat chunky. Dudda’s fur is supposed to be silver and lo and behold I got a gorgeous blanket from my boyfriend for my birthday (club 23 for over a month and still not used to it) and on it was a cat with dark grey fur and magic books and I was like “!!!!” he knows I write but never read what I’ve written before. I swear you guys, there’s magic involved with this story. I've included a picture of the artwork of the blanket, the cat looks black but it's my Dudda blanket now lol.
> 
> About the stones:
> 
> \- An opal talisman is believed to carry a distinct essence of transformation, helping the wearer to reshape themselves and their lives into what it is they desire most (i.e. not a werewolf life). Opals can be kind of unpredictable but it also magnifies emotions, so it might not be best to wear it all the time (talking about magnified emotions hehe).  
> \- Selenite also has a strong protective energy. It can be used to ward off harmful spirits and keep one safe during travel.  
> Healing is one of the primary properties of this crystal. It soothes wounds of the physical body as well as those which affect the spirit.  
> Fun fact: Some have found that the crystal is beneficial for fertility issues. It can also help to improve impotence and sexual dysfunction in men.The crystal is very good for removing streams of negative thinking. It encourages one to view their life in terms of its possibilities. Which is also quite fitting for this story.


	6. The Curse

The first thing he registered were the sunrays heating the skin of his arms and chest. Second came the warmth of another warm body pressed against his, a slim leg slung over him, a hand on his chest, and a soft face resting on his shoulder.

The scent of rosemary and roses infiltrated his nose. He turned towards the source, burying his nose into a soft mass of hair.

A fire was crackling, and a cat was spinning somewhere in the room. He hadn’t even noticed Esther’s room had a fire yesterday night.

Esther.

With no small amount of effort, and after slowly bringing his hand up to rub his eyes so he wouldn’t wake her, Babington opened his eyes to look at the figure resting against him. Her copper hair gleamed magnificently in the warm autumn light, shielding most of her face from his view.

How it had suddenly happened, he still wasn’t sure. But he was incredibly happy it did. His fingers itched to trace the slope of her slim shoulders, and to slide his fingers down the curve of her back. However, he had to content himself with looking for the time being. He drank in the curve of her exposed breast lying in his chest. She really did have the most lovely unblemished skin.

He’d woken up beside beautiful women before, but none had ever enraptured him quite like her. Perhaps it was because of how closed off she was, making him work for every bit of information and smile she offered. Maybe it was because he’d never met anyone like her before. Yet, he could make a list of people who were quite unique, but no one had drawn him in like her. Love had mysterious ways, there was no exact reason as to why it happened.

Perhaps it was love, for no one had ever made him act so foolishly before, at least not in a way that he hadn’t any control over his own actions. When he was foolish before, he almost always knew he was making a bad decision.

Now, he didn’t even think about making decisions. Going to her home at night without a plan and getting bitten because he went into the forest during a full moon, foolish definitely, and completely unplanned. Harvesting and cooking while he had never come near a vegetable patch or a casserole before? He had just done it without thinking, his only thought had been to help her. He never questioned whether he was up to the task, or what he would accomplish with it, he just felt the need to do it. And yesterday, when he’d heard sound at his door, and footsteps going towards her room, he had gotten up without a plan either.

But acting like that, without thinking things through, without questioning what would happen after, had its disadvantages as well. Disadvantages he’d always repressed but could now no longer.

Though they were now closer than they had ever physically been, he suddenly felt overwhelming loss and grieve, knowing they could never be this close again once they left the bed.

Because these were the facts he had repressed and given no thought at all.

He had accomplished exactly nothing by visiting her. He had perhaps helped her a little bit, and had in return gotten to spend time with her. In that time, his feelings for her had grown, but there was no feasible future for them.

She was a witch, and her life couldn’t be less normal if she tried. She hated humankind, and was weary of them. Nothing indicated she was looking for a husband, nor did he know if she would ever consider confirming to human society in such a way.

She had her own routine, home and acquaintances in which he didn’t fit, and he had a life in which she didn’t fit.

And on top of all that, she had acted like becoming a werewolf, was virtually the same as dying, and he had failed his test yesterday. A test he had no doubt she would’ve aced in three seconds. It was where they differed. She is ruthless and powerful, and isn’t afraid to do what is needed, someone who is able to embrace all sides of herself, the good and the bad. While he is a gentleman who never had to make a tough decision in his entire life, someone used to running away from problems. He is weak, and prone to overthinking, and indeed useless, even when his own life and those of others are at stake.

Their lives already didn’t fit together, him becoming a werewolf wouldn’t better their odds. He’d rolled the dice, and played himself.

She made a soft sound and pressed her nose deeper into his skin. This close, he could spot a myriad of tiny freckles on her sharp cheekbones.

He would miss their moments, he felt like the more he learned about her, the more he understood that more than anything, she tried to appear hard and cold, however it was clear she wasn’t as cold and annoyed as she liked to behave. He wondered where her act stopped and she began.

Because when she slept, it looked nothing but fragile and soft.

‘I can feel you staring at me. You aren’t being subtle at all.’

‘Your eyes are closed.’

‘Must be my third eye.’

‘Does that even exist?’

‘A lady needs her secrets.’

‘And a witch?’

‘Mm, especially when she’s a witch.’

She hummed as she rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs. Bringing her hands up to her face, she wiped at her eyes with her index fingers, before looking up at him with her enticing dark eyes.

He did not know what she saw on his face or thought, but she quickly averted her eyes, laying her cheek back on his chest and looking out of the window.

‘It’s late.’

‘Well, you came home late.’

‘Wasn’t even two yet. That’s early for a meeting.’

‘So there might be some truth to there being a witching hour?’

‘Oh, we’re only getting started during the witching hour’, she smirked.

Their conversation was so relaxed, as if it wasn’t even odd for them to wake up in bed together. He wished it could become a habit.

‘What is it you do then, exactly? And where?’

‘You keep asking questions, expecting answers while I almost never indulge you. Why?’

‘I’m a hopeful man.’

She tried to scowl, but a smile quickly cracked the solid line of her lips.

‘Well, since I know how miserable the world is without hope, I’ll allow you to keep some of your hope and provide answers this time.’

‘I’m honoured, Mighty Witch.’

She propped herself up, supporting her chin with her hands as she looked down on him, a mischief glint in her eyes.

‘We haunt the places of the dark, in the meadows of the woods, where there are werewolves and goblins and things that go bump in the night and when seen cause normal humans a fright. There we create large bonfires, perform spells in groups, and drink our magic wine. We cackle about stupid things we’ve seen humans do, and pay our respect to nature.’

‘Sounds like a party.’

‘It is a party. Or well, we always hold one after the ceremonial and serious stuff is over.’

‘What is the serious stuff?’

‘Our coven leader speeching, dull coven business, ceremonies and spells honouring nature.’

Babington absorbed the information. He’d never heard her talking about other witches except for when she said she’d talk to the witch who knew shapeshifters.

‘Are all witches female?’

‘No, there are male magicians. There are more women in covens though. Many men ignore their potential to practice magic, and men are more often solitary. Not enough though if you ask me. Despite that sixty percent of us are female, top positions often go to men, the effects of the patriarchy affect even a society where the rules of the real world are looked down upon, a world in which we are taught man and woman are supposed to be two sides of the same thing, equal but different.’

‘I feel like there are so many interesting stories.’

‘There are, but I won’t bore you with them. And ordinary humans aren’t meant to know that much. Which you are again’, she smirked.

Babington bit his lip, but Esther rolled away from him and sat upright, looking at the window. She knotted her fingers together and lifted her arms to stretch. The blue blanket slid off of her, exposing her from the waist up. Long elegant hands attached to slim arms reached towards the ceiling. His gaze slid downwards, across the curls covering her upper back. Her ribcage was slim, stopping above a tiny trim waist before her body broadened again around her hips. He could probably fit her waist into his two hands. She was a gorgeous woman.

Now he could finally see clearly what the night had partially obscured. Between the curls, he spotted stark black figures against the dip in her back where her spine ran. All stages of the moon were placed chronologically down her spine with small decorations and lines between them.

Around her left arm was a black and blue band of ink, with figures and signs in it he didn’t know. Another small marking covered a part of her ribcage, and on her left hip was a date with a sign.

His hand was touching it before he was aware it had moved towards it.

‘My date of joining the coven, and the emblem of my coven’, she explained.

It dated back to twelve years ago. She wasn’t incredibly young anymore, but she had to have been in her earlier teens when she joined.

‘The one of the moons is a pretty typical one, but I liked it nonetheless. That’s the one I and all other Hedge Witches have, all those who specialize in the same kind of magic get a similar one… Anyways, I’m hungry. Breakfast time’, she decided and jumped out of the bed.

The last tattoo, some kind of flower held together by a ribbon, remained unexplained.

She had already given him more knowledge than he could have asked for, so he didn’t want to press it, and he doubted he’d get the answer anyway if she deliberately left that one out during her explanation.

‘About the coven. It reminds me, weren’t you going to ask that one witch about the nine to ten years thing?’ He asked as he grabbed his own shirt and pantaloons.

‘Yes, and I did. Not that it matters of course. The curse can indeed stop, if on the night of the tenth year anniversary, the werewolf still hasn’t killed any living creature.’

He could become human again. The tenth anniversary, he would be forty-one by that time. It was old, definitely, but not that old that his life would be over.

Esther picked up the cat and went downstairs, blissfully unaware of Babington’s thoughts.

He was going to have to tell her. She was the only witch he knew, and thus the only one who could perform the protective spells which would stop him from harming anyone and anything.

She was going to have him for breakfast if he confessed to letting the man go. He doubted leaving his gun with the silver bullets there would alleviate the allegations. She was going to be so very mad.

Though she’d stated she didn’t care about normal humans, he wasn’t fully convinced she wouldn’t march down to kill John herself. Perhaps, he could confess whilst omitting his encounter with the werewolf.

It was going to be a tough conversation regardless.

It was going to be a tough twenty-five days, and afterwards a tough ten years. Years in which he’d lose his old life, perhaps his friends, and definitely Esther.

He was regretting his decision immensely, yet, what was there to do? Objectively, he could return and kill the man. But why would he be able to do it now?

He continued dressing and went downstairs, where Esther had finished making porridge and was now throwing some fruit over the two bowls as the tea water was heating up. Dudda was already enjoying her breakfast on the kitchen counter, basking in the warm sunlight as she had her meal.

He could get used to the scene, yet it was to be the last time. Walking over to the kettle, he gazed at the pot until it started making noise.

‘So, are you fine… after yesterday?’ Esther asked in a soft voice once they were both sat at the table.

Her brow creased as she studied him.

‘Not really’, he confessed before jamming a spoonful into his mouth.

‘Mustn’t have been easy for you. Doubt you ever even killed a chicken. Perhaps a fox during a hunt?’

‘Not even that.’

He hoped she would get the hint as he continued shoving large spoonful’s into his mouth. She didn’t.

‘So how did it go? Did you have an easy time finding him?’

‘I couldn’t do it.’

‘What?’ her voice was sharp, eyebrows raised.

‘Are you being serious right now?’ she continued.

‘Yes. I asked a lot of people, no one knew about a werewolf. So I couldn’t kill him.’ He had never minded being unable to lie except for now. He would have to really dance around the truth and hang up a believable story without a single lie.

‘I asked whether someone had recently returned to the village after the full moon. I asked whether they knew someone who was a bit of an outsider. I asked whether someone had recently gotten an injury around their belly region.’

He omitted that his questions got answers. The implication of his words were enough for Esther, luckily.

‘Why are you only saying this now?’ She jumped up, pacing through the kitchen.

‘I really thought I had the location. Perhaps a neighbouring village? Have you tried the neighbouring village? Did you truly not at least sense him? Perhaps you aren’t far enough along yet to sense him.’

‘Esther, I wounded him. Even with faster healing, he should still have wounds. Villages are small, someone should have noticed someone walking around with bandages. Or the local doctor must remember having been contacted. I asked around in the village, they knew exactly who broke his leg and who got a cough.’

They also knew an outsider with injuries, but he remained silent.

‘And the neighbouring villages?’

‘I tried the one closest to it, nothing.’ He had, because he’d wrongly thought he’d entered the right village. When it turned out he was wrong, he quickly found the right one.

‘I don’t get it. Perhaps I should talk to some more people.’

‘Esther, the days are ticking past. Instead of throwing a third of my already short month away for a wild goose chase which has no guarantee of being successful, can’t I just prepare for the inevitable?’

He could have selected his words more carefully, but he was anxious and nervous to change the topic as he was already feeling guilty for lying to her, especially when she was clearly so worried.

‘A wild goose chase? Is that what you call it? I always knew you were a fool!’

The word hit him like a bullet. She’d called him a fool before, and in his dream about the tarot reading the fool had been in his future. And indeed, by an odd freak of nature, his life was about to change. He was about to become like her, an isolated magical being, while he had spent his entire life in society surrounded by dozens of friends and acquaintances.

‘With all due respect but there’s no guarantee we’ll find them. You don’t even try to see it from my perspective. I have less than a month left to say goodbye to everything I ever knew. I could think of better ways to spend those days.’

‘Better than possibly escaping this curse? Covering every village around the forest takes between ten to twenty days but honestly, with those days you might not even have to move or say goodbye. All it takes is – ‘

‘ – is another person’s life.’

‘They’re already damned. Half a life for a full life, and all lives of all humans and animals the both of you might hurt in the future on top of that!’

‘Is that how you’ll see me? Not even a real human?’

‘Because you won’t be! It’s the life of every human magical being. Do you want to live like this, isolated and hated? You don’t know what it’s like. I do. I didn’t choose this life. I didn’t ask for it.’

‘And neither did I. Don’t be mad with me for being stuck with this curse. I didn’t ask that wolf to bite me.’

‘Admittedly, you were asking for trouble that night.’

‘I know. You reminded me of it multiple times. But I probably would’ve done it again. I can’t help it. I cared.’

‘Which is why you are such a fool. You have no idea –‘

‘Why are you being so mad? You’ve gone great lengths to have me know I am a fool and you talk about how you despise humans and society all the time. You never cared for humanity.’

‘Oh yes. I don’t care. That’ll be why I went out for hours to seek the wolf on the night of the full moon, why I contacted the dead for hours on end, why I spent an entire day making wolfsbane potions just in case... You really don’t know why I’m mad at you? You’re the only person I’ve ever met who deserves a full normal life. Why don’t you even try fighting for it?’

She had been describing her own life. Her anger came from a place of anger and isolation. She herself had been abandoned by the world, cast out and looked down upon even when she helped them. He’d thought she was happy with her life, and perhaps she was, but now it became clear that she had become happy in the woods despite being isolated, instead of because of it. And it was a life she didn’t want for him.

His heartbeat was pounding in his ears as he observed her furious person, shoulders heaving as she breathed heavily.

No, that was incorrect. He could feel his own heartbeat in his chest, and the rhythm didn’t match the rhythm he heard. He scanned the rising and falling motion of her bosom, it was hers. He was hearing her heartbeat. 

She shook her head, turning away.

‘Fine, do things your way.’

‘What else do you want me to do? Esther, if we keep on losing days to find the beast, there won’t be enough time to make sure that if we don’t find them, everything will be prepared for when I… when…’

‘The werewolf has to live nearby. He has too. And when we kill him, plan B won’t be necessary’, she insisted quietly.

‘And if we don’t, I risk endangering everyone. I don’t want to hurt people. I know you disagree, and I understand. I need to ask for your help one last time. Help me prepare my home, so I won’t harm others during full moons. I don’t want to become a killer. You told me there was a way to prepare my house. That there was a way I could lock myself away with the help of some spells.’

The kitchen door opened, and a breeze of wind came flooding in. he immediately noticed the shift in temperature. The sunrays might be warm, but the temperature was anything but warm, and the wind was anything but gentle. She’d broken off the weather spells keeping her garden in a moderate climate.

The wind blew her curls away from her face, but her figure remained unmoving.

‘Will you just stop and look at me for a second?’

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she asked. Her voice was composed, but strained.

‘It’s for the best.’

‘Ten years.’ He couldn’t read her voice, but the words made him cringe.

‘I know.’

‘I should start gathering all the herbs and flowers I’ll need for the wolfsbane potion and the security spells then’, she announced as she walked into the garden without looking back.

He could feel their fragile friendship and tense relationship breaking with every step she took.

He could curse himself for doing this, if it wasn’t that he had already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So What is a Hedge Witch?
> 
> To quote Sarah Anne Lawless, “The word hedgewitch comes from the Saxon word haegtessa meaning ‘hedge-rider’. The hedge in hedge witchery is not a fence of shrubs and wildlife, but instead represents the border between our material world and the otherworld – the unknown. In trance-work (also called journey-work, journeying or just “travelling”) the hedgewitch crosses this border in order to contact spirits on the other side to learn from them and bring back knowledge to the material world.” à I mean to have a soft magic system in this story, meaning there are little concrete rules. I want to treat magic as something mysterious (remember, I’m still writing mostly from Babington’s POV who doesn’t know a lot). Esther’s specialized in contacting the other world: contacting the dead, contacting demons. But she’s obviously very tied to nature still, having her garden, working on potions with natural ingredients, doing all kinds of little magical things. However, I also feel like Esther has trouble belonging, both in the Sanditon series and in this fic. She floats between worlds, but never feels at home somewhere, in that way, having her be a hedge witch also tells us something about her.
> 
> Throughout the story I’ve littered hints that Esther’s parents died, and her hate of the human world is connected to that. She also has a loaded relationship with Edward, and even though she has contact with other magical creatures we’ve seen by now she’s still alone quite a lot. In a way, it is funny that she can decide at the drop of a hat to talk to dozens of dead people to get a piece of knowledge, but is too afraid to reach out to another human being who willingly reaches out his hand to her.


	7. The Babington Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RECAP: After their night together, Babington confessed to not having killed the werewolf, but omitted that he had in fact met the werewolf and had let him go free. After a fight during which both lost their temper, they travelled to the Babington Estate together, where Esther will start to prepare Babington's home to accomodate a werewolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments, they've been so encouraging!  
> I'm guessing this story will take about two to three chapters, but I'm not sure, it's grown naturally. It was meant to be a two-shot and look where we are? I keep on getting new inspiration left and right. But I've noticed I'm growing impatient to write other things, which is never a good thing. And knowing me, I only write what I'm excited for, so penning down an idea and coming back to it later rarely works out for me. 
> 
> So I'm going to use this Corona Virus "not a lockdown but technically a lockdown" once all my deadlines are finished to wrap up this story and start my next one. It's going to be a canon compliant story about the intermediate period between Esther and Babington getting engaged and them marrying AND I AM EXCITED. Hey, if I can't fangirl for my own stories, who will?

They were both dressed for travel, he freshly shaven and proper in his blue coat, and she with a nice hairdo in her red one. She looked like any other lady, yet she got a couple of one-overs as they were welcomed into his family’s ancestral home. And they weren’t only because she was beautiful. It took him some time before he got it. She didn’t have witch written on her forehead, but he remembered well what impression she’d made on him back when he first met her. She radiated a mysterious powder one couldn’t put their finger on.

He greeted all his staff and asked the maids to prepare a room for Esther as he took her outside to show her around the property. She followed quietly, taking in the ornamental gardens, the lake, the small decorative neoclassical arcadia and finally, the old graveyard at the far end of the property hidden behind rows of trees.

They’d left on the same day as their argument, and slept in separate rooms in an inn that night and the one following as they continued their journey to his estate. Their two day journey had been quite quiet. They had recovered from their fight. They both understood the other’s stance, and when Babington engaged in conversation, she always responded, but there was a strain which hadn’t been there before, a tenseness which made everything uncomfortable. There hadn’t been anymore kissed or touches. She really disliked werewolves, and now that she knew he was becoming one he doubted he would receive any more.

🌗🌗🌗

‘So these are the ancient Babington mausoleums?’ she asked as her fingers slid down the weathered stone.

‘Not exactly ancient. That one has been here for a good century, and that one over there was finished just ten years ago. But since we had quite a lot of big families the past century, they panicked and started building a spare one.’

‘And do you have lots of siblings? I never heard you bring them up before?’

Babington shook his head, walking over to the newest building. ‘I have a younger brother, he got injured during the Napoleonic Wars. Left him so disillusioned with society he joined a monastery he doesn’t leave anymore. He send letters about thrice a year, accompanied by some bottled beer they make. I have a sister though, she’s currently living in Italy with her husband. He’s an ambassador. She’s wonderful, you two would get along splendidly.’

‘How so?’

‘Ah…’ He opened the mausoleum and let them both in, uncomfortably smiling as his mind was working to come up with a reason. The second he started talking about his sister, his mind had automatically thought of the two ladies meeting and getting along. But he couldn’t motivate the feeling immediately.

‘She’s very smart and independent. And also quite humorous. I think even you would think she was pretty alright for an ordinary human being’, he decided as he lead her through the short marble hall to the flight of stairs leading into the empty crypts.

‘Independent and smart and she has married? An odd choice.’

‘She lectured him on something during a dinner and he decided to fall in love.’

‘Interesting’, she smirked.

‘She loves to do her thing, but I think she also really loves him and what he has to say. And the travelling they do. I believe she might one day very well publish her poetry and some of her writing. She pretends she writes fiction, but in reality it’s thinly veiled moral and political critique.’

‘Like that would happen.’

‘Why wouldn’t it?’

‘There’s a reason virtually all female writers write under a pseudonym and are unmarried. Even the most liberal of husbands still feel like they are above their wives. And who can blame them? The law considers women the property of their husband once they marry, they have nothing to themselves anymore. Church allows men to govern their women. Monotheistic religions are male-oriented and aimed at keeping women docile and subservient, and this country’s entire law system complies with it.’

‘It is also their duty to love, cherish and protect their wives, and offer them all the comfort they need. The law might indeed not be the best thing, but what stops husbands from being good husbands? The law has low requirements of husbands, that’s true. I’ve seen many cheat their wives regularly and carry public affairs, while no wife could do that, but equally one who truly loves his wife and cares for his family would never do that. If I knew my wife loved writing, part of my job as a husband would be to support their aspirations as well. How can a wife feel cherished if her husband keeps her from doing what makes her happy? If you don’t believe my hypothetical declaration, perhaps you should meet my sister and her husband. I’m pretty sure he would tell you the exact same thing. I would never have let her marry someone who wished to control and possess her and had a disregard for her as a person. I love my sister, I never would have allowed someone who didn’t love her equally to marry her.’

Esther didn’t reply anymore, and briefly Babington wondered whether that meant he had convinced her of the good of humankind or whether she simply didn’t care to continue the argument.

She walked into the room he held open on the end of a tunnel, it was the furthest away from the entrance. The inside was wide and deep enough for four caskets, made in case of there ever occurring a family drama which would take four souls within a span of five years.

‘This will be the spot?’

Babington nodded. Four cold unadorned dark walls and a sandy floor. No sarcophagus had been built yet, that was completely unnecessary, so the room was completely empty. There was no source of light except for the lanterns they’d brought with them.

He thought back of the gun he’d left with the man. Would he use it? Would he feel it if John shot himself? Was it wrong of him to hope he would, so he would be spared a cursed life and the eternal guilt killing him would have brought with it?

The next ten years of his life he would have to spend a full night each month in here, world’s least accommodating and most uniquely situated bedroom, only suited to those stuck in such a deep slumber they would never wake from it to complain about the commodities. He couldn’t stop himself from doing the math. Twelve months a year, ten years in a row. One hundred and twenty nights of being stuck here. All by all, it amounted to about a third of a year, spread across ten years. It sounded doable, but then he knew how often he used to make trips for multiple months on end.

He could never travel somewhere the week before a full moon again from now on. If he wished to travel, he had to do it at the start of the lunar month. If a friend planned a party around the time of the full moon, he wouldn’t be able to go since he wouldn’t be back in time to crawl into his dark cave to keep the world save from the savagery of the beast.

‘I could get started today, lay the first layer of the protective spells.’

‘You could, should you wish. If there is anything you need, anything I can do, always feel free to ask. And I’ll tell the servants they have to comply with everything you ask of them, however unusual.’

‘Babington, I’ll ruin the both of us if I ask them for some of the things I need. Just imagine me walking up to them and asking for the pins of a hedgehog. The whole town will know you’re hosting a witch before the week’s over.’

‘Alright, allow me to rephrase. You may always ask me for anything, and ask of the servants whatever you deem them capable of delivering without raising their suspicion. They’ve been proven to be quite discreet though, and have dealt with a lot of strange and unusual requests from some of my guests.’

Esther nodded and procured stalks of herbs from the pockets in her skirts and bags of chopped and dried flowers and other plants.

‘I’ll be needing a lock of your hair and some of your blood either today or tomorrow.’

‘Alright. Why though?’

‘So I can make a doll with it and stab it whenever I’m bored’, she explained without stopping to lay out all her herbs, dried pieces of wood and pieces of plants. He recognized rosemary, hyssop, thistle, eucalyptus, nettle and sage.

‘Shall I cut it with my dagger? So you’ll have it by the time you grow bored tonight?’

Esther looked up, a smile tugging at her lips.

‘I intend to bind to protective and warding spells to you specifically, so no one else can get shut in with you. And I’m going to tie all the hexes and wards to the moon as well. That way only you will get stuck here, and only during a specific height of the moon on the day of the full moon. I’m also going to shield the walls and door, so you won’t be able to damage them during the full moon and put a silencing hex in place so no one who happens to walk in the woods will be tempted to come down here. Of course, it would be easier if I could use shields and protective hexes that hurt whatever tries to break them down, but since that would be you I’m currently studying some of the more complex stuff from my books. Never had to use those before.’

‘That sounds like a lot of spells… uhm hexes and protection things and stuff.’

‘Yes. It’ll take me a good week at the very least to weave everything together and supply the whole thing with enough magic so it will last over a decade. But no worries, once this is in place, you won’t be able to get out and hurt anything. You’ll be human again. I’m not just any witch.’

‘No, you certainly aren’t. And I’m very grateful that you agreed to help me.’

‘Could hardly let the world suffer for your foolishness.’

Esther muttered a string of incomprehensible words, and all the laid out greenery caught flame, slowly disintegrating and turning to ash.

As everything continued to smoke, she stood and walked over to him,

She held a piece of cloth in her one hand, and a sharp looking knife imbedded with gems in the other.

‘Hold still.’

She took his right hand, focussing diligently on her job. It was anything but romantic, having her cut his hand in a dusty crypt, yet his heart jumped. He’d never fallen in love before, and now he had with the one person he had no chance of being together with.

She turned his palm, tracing the blade over it before pressing down. Immediately the tissue gave way, and bright red blood started welling out of it. She held the cloth against it and pressed down on his palm until it was thoroughly soaked. She put the tissue on a tray she also produced from her pocket.

‘Just how deep is that thing?’

Did magic truly have no bounds? He discovered something new one could accomplish with magic each day. It was truly a wonder witches hadn’t taken over the world by now.

‘About until my knees, with padded compartments for comfort. I knew I’d be needing this dress to smuggle things here inconspicuously either today or in the next few days. Why?’

‘No reason. I was just curious.’

‘You thought it’d be magic?’

He nodded, almost ashamed to admit it now.

‘Sometimes normal humans can come up with solutions and inventions too.’

‘Oh, and here I was thinking we were pretty useless after the invention of horse and carriage.’

She rolled her eyes and wrapped a bandage around his palm.

‘Almost useless isn’t completely useless.’

‘That shall be my life motto from now on.’

Drying blood now clung to her hands, but that didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest as she raised her arms to cut off a lock of his dark blond curls. Her scent was different. The herbal scent had been exchanged for one he knew well: roses and lavender, the same scent he smelt on almost every woman. Despite her professed disgust for society she was doing her best to fit in.

‘Don’t exert yourself too much.’

‘You believe I’m not up to it?’

She sighed, which was odd considering her fast paced heartbeat, and turned away from him to continue whatever witchy thing she was doing.

‘You amuse me. Let’s keep it at that.’

‘Since I have no clue what you’re doing, and though I do not mean to appear impatient whatsoever, I just wish to point out darkness will fall soon. So just let me know when we should head back.’

‘Well, I’m done for today anyways. The room is purified and the first barrier has gone up. Tomorrow’s one is being prepared by linking elements of you to the protective spells. It’ll keep you safe, and the outside world safe from you.’

Babington nodded with a smile, though his entire body shivered with fear at the reminder.

 _Safe from you,_ since he was the monster now.

They left just minutes after.

🌗🌗🌗

Supper wasn’t ready yet, but her room was.

‘I can lead you to it, if you wish, so we can freshen up for supper?’

‘Freshen up?’ she laughed as she looked up at the ornate ceiling of the grand hall. ‘You _are_ a lord.’

‘You knew I was.’

‘But now you’re being stereotypical’, she decided as her hand slid over the magnificent dark wood of the handrail.

She looked back at him, standing on the expensive mosaic floor, underneath a crystal chandelier, all prim and proper. He looked at home, body relaxed as he stood amidst the splendour. Yet he had not looked out of place or washed and redressed to eat at her home.

‘Perhaps I should change into one of my grander dresses. I would not wish to shame the host’, she teased as she put her feet on the first step.

‘You look fine Esther. It’s nothing. I just slipped into my habits. You don’t have to do anything to please me.’

Her smile faltered a second before she took another step upwards. ‘No. I’m here in this grand estate. Allow me to pretend for a sweet second. It just took me by surprise for a second, that is all.’

‘Alright, if you wish it. Follow me, my lady.’

She lifted her chin and he gave her a polite nod before leading her up the flights of stairs and past lovely oaken corridors with plush carpets, thick curtains and lovely paintings, before stopping at two grand doors.

‘This shall be your room.’

He pushed the door open and revealed a magnificent room in jewel colours and dark wood. It weren’t the light and pastel rooms women usually preferred, but he imagined it would fit her tastes better. She immediately walked over to the large windows overlooking the dark sky and the woods of his estate. One could just about distinguish the landscaping and the structure of some of the greenery as the last of the light of the twenty-third day disappeared from the sky.

‘This is a lovely room.’

‘Anyone would think I chose it for a reason.’

‘Did you?’ she asked lazily, comfortably slipping back into her aloof attitude.

‘You know I did.’

They both looked at each other, supressing smirks, before looking back outside until it got completely dark.

‘Alright, I shall leave you to it’, he excused himself. She nodded, following him to the door.

‘Don’t forget to wash behind your ears’, she drawled as she held onto her door – and closed it just late enough to see him entering his room right across of hers.

Chosen for a reason indeed.

🌗 🌗 🌗

‘So , Miss Denham, would you be interested in a tour of the house after we’re finished here? Since you’ll be spending a couple of days here.’

She had been rolling the red wine from one side of her glass to the other before she looked up at him. After soup, and the first course, she’d just been playing with her food. She wasn’t a big eater, and desert almost passed by untouched.

She had indeed changed dress, and now sat across of him in a white one with a frilly chemise with a high neckline coming up until just beneath her chin. It looked ridiculous on her, the abundance of white, the chaste neckline and the proper hairdo. He wished he could just take it off of her and put her back in the sleeveless dark dress she’d walked around in around her home.

‘You may show me around yes.’

And so, after the table had been cleared, he took her on a tour.

🌗 🌗 🌗

‘First, the room I prefer to spend the most time in aside from my bedroom’, he announced as he pushed open the library.

The room was the length of her entire house, though slimmer. Comfortable couches with prints from the early eighteenth century stood around the fire. Globes, desks and artwork were placed haphazardly around the room, and almost the entire wall opposite the wall of windows, exempting the stone fireplace and the immediate area around it, was covered by racks of books.

‘They’re sorted by genre: philosophy, economy, politics, travel journals, books on nature, fiction is sorted by genre as well. And all genres are sorted by alphabet. Feel free to read whatever you like.’

Her white dress was a stark contrast against the dark blues and deep reds in the room. She slid further inwards, tracing her hands across the racks of books to read a few titles, halted at the three centuries old fireplace, admired the family painting above it of three generations back, looked upward to gaze at the paintings on the ceiling, and stopped at the bust of his father wedged beneath a painting of his mother between the racks of the philosophy and politics books.

‘Your father?’

Babington nodded.

‘He died two years ago.’

‘He was already in a bad place after mother died. His health deteriorated even more when he received the news of my brother’s injury.’

‘Your mother died young though. Forty-four. Your father was in his sixties.’

He couldn’t hide his eyebrows twitching at the memory. Perceptive as she was, she noticed.

‘Something happened to her?’

‘She always wanted a large family.’

She married my father when she was still very young, at about sixteen. She got pregnant with me quite quickly. My brother took more effort, my sister even longer. By the time she got pregnant the last time around, everybody was surprised, and surprised even more when she delivered and the baby was born safely, though my mother remained weak. I was twenty-seven when my littlest sister contracted an illness after playing with some other children.’

Her left eyebrow dipped, as it always did when she heard something unpleasant. Her hands twitched. He knew she rarely pried, so he decided to continue to share the story.

‘She contracted it too. They both died. Her at forty-four, my sister Anne at five. We were all devastated. Didn’t go to London for months. My sister, she was inconsolable.’

He saw her mind work. She was doing the math, calculating every event. He first met her six years ago, his mother and sister had still been alive then. Four years ago they had died, and two years later in 1814 his brother got injured and his father died not shortly afterwards. Two parents and one sibling in less than four years had been heavy.

She nodded slowly, hand playing with the standing globe next to her. She jumped when she accidentally touched a pin and it clicked open, revealing a collection of brandy and rum.

She eyed him.

‘Night caps’, he smirked. ‘Though they helped during the mourning too.’

‘We only picked up life again a year and a half ago. It was weird, without little Anne skipping about in the hallways and screaming in that high-pitched way children do. And Henry wasn’t laughing and telling Elizabeth stories about his adventures with the regiment. Father wasn’t around to scold me for wasting away my education and privileges in London, mother wasn’t there anymore to comfort us and embroider something while watching us. We were still very tightknit four years ago, despite the my brother and me being in our twenties and my sister in her late teens.’

He couldn’t stop talking now he had begun. He could still remember all of them. He could imagine his father, with his balding head sitting at the desk nearest to the fireplace. Elizabeth sitting on the floor in one of her pretty pink dresses in front of the fire with little Anne on her lap while watching Henry point with a wooden sword as he re-enacted a story. He could still see himself, lounging on a chaise lounge with a book opposite his mother who was sitting in her fauteuil.

‘My sister got engaged right after the mourning period had ended. I think she needed to fill up the emptiness their deaths had left, and he was the first man she’d ever met who didn’t just flirt with her during walks and dances… So now it’s just me, and this big old empty place.’

‘Is that why you’re spending so much time in London?’

He nodded. He wasn’t good at being alone, never had been. This was still his home, the place where he’d grown up and had such a splendid time basking in the warmth his parents provided, which made it all the more jarring to arrive back home every couple of months to find it just a bunch of cold walls.

‘I’m lucky though. I got to have my mother for twenty-seven years of my life, and my father for twenty-nine. I had a warm home to return, and they made sure I never lacked in love or comfort. Not many people can say that.’

‘No, they cannot’, she agreed. She didn’t divulge any information about her own family, but he hadn’t expected she would. She was quite attached to her privacy and air of mystery. He wondered if she kept it just from him, or didn’t talk about it to anyone.

‘So, have any more locations to show me?’ she asked. ‘Or is this it. One room to entertain guests in this entire house? Now don’t disappoint me?’

She was trying to cheer him up by teasing him. It was the perfect opportunity to move on from the painful topic.

‘I do. I’m quite disappointed you think this is all I have. I won’t have you be disappointed. We cannot have that.’

‘Lovely’, she decided as she followed him out of the room. He showed her the drawing room, the living room with the piano and harp, the astronomy tower situated in the oldest part of the house – that quite took her attention – but he had one last surprise up his sleeve.

‘I suppose as a good host I should divulge some of the history of the house. If the acts and history of ordinary men don’t bore you.’

‘That shall depend on whether you make it sound boring, Babington.’

‘Such pressure.’

‘Don’t disappoint me. We don’t want that, remember.’

‘These lands have always been home to lords, even during the time of the moving courts and wooden homes during the Early Middle Ages. And we’ve found evidence of Roman settlements even before that, so you could say these grounds have always held a certain allure. Around the eleventh century a home was built near to the cemetery. That was destroyed and around the thirteenth century a new house was built near and on the foundations of the roman settlements. New wings and rooms kept on being added. So the castle has mostly Tudor and earlier King George style influences. The library and bedrooms are clearly more Tudor, however the bedrooms have been updated frequently to look a bit more modern. The great hall was a more recent addition, as were the dining room and drawing rooms. The servants live in the older wing… not that that wing is neglected or in a poor state or anything.’

‘Mhm’, she hummed in a nondescript way. She wasn’t intrigued yet.

‘Of course, most castles have interesting tales of servants and enemies buried between the walls. Rooms with crazy family members bricked up and left to starve.’

She was interested now.

‘Unfortunately, though our family’s been around since the time of King John, back when we were still named Bavington, Babinton or Bappintone depending on which document you look at, we’ve never been very interesting. Except for Anthony Babington, who was a notorious conspirator. Unfortunately though, his plot fell through and the conspiracy was found out. Died quite young.’

‘Guess everyone in this family is quite bad at lying.’

He threw a glance sideways. She was pointedly looking forward, but a smile was tugging at her lips.

‘Miss Denham, are you joking about my tragic loss of one of the most useful abilities in society and the cause of death of my ancestor?’

Her shoulders started shaking as a snigger left her mouth.

‘That is so horrible of you! I am app- appal- I cannot even get myself to say it. It is so wrong of you.’ He could not hide his own grin.

‘You admitted to being sick of pretence, so I can’t help but feel compelled to speak the truth. Are you appalled, truly?’

‘I cannot lie, you know. I couldn’t even get the word across my lips.’

‘It truly is the gift that keeps on giving’, she laughed as he held open a door for her.

The hall they entered was a lot smaller, and not as well-lit or decorated. The walls were a cold grey stone, but they were decorated with nice columns and arches. It was clear this was one of the older parts of the castle.

‘Is this the part where I become the first inhabitant of the walls of the castle? I admit I’d do a great job as a poltergeist. I wonder what happens when a witch comes back from the death to haunt people.’

‘Knowing you, it would surely be a most terrifying thing. Which is exactly why I won’t test it. I’m perfectly happy with the remnants of the Roman ruins being the only things hiding in these walls’, he smiled while touching the stone.

He opened the door next to it, a heavy wooden example, probably a few centuries old. The worn dark stone gave way to a white mosaic, faded with age, though here and there a couple of shiny white tiles sparkled underneath the light of the torches they had taken from the wall. The air was different from inside the hallway. The chilly air was replaced with something altogether more humid and heavy. Droplets of condensation formed on their cold hands.

‘What is this place?’

‘Ah, now comes the time to check how well you have been paying attention to my story, and a test of your history knowledge.’

Babington closed the door behind them. Esther looked up, the interior was still in the same style as the hallway. He knew she was looking for clues as to what could cause the humid air. The ceiling appeared to be high, but they couldn’t see it, both because of the darkness and the reflection of a white cloud of steam hanging above them. They were in a small square room, an antechamber of some sort. She always teased him with information he couldn’t possibly know. She never cared to explain anything, now their roles were reversed for once. He hoped she would notice it, and dislike the feeling enough to know it wasn’t fair to put him in this position all the time.

‘What did I tell you the foundations were built on?’

‘Roman settlement.’

He could see her mind race as she touched the stones.

‘They had internal heating. Is this that? A way to some kind of underground heating room?’

‘No.’

She pouted and looked at him. She was annoyed.

‘Ah yes, it is fun to have to guess while you remain hungry for answers, is it not.’

‘Is this your way of exacting revenge, Babington?’

‘Maybe it is my way of giving you just the tiniest bit of your own medicine.’

‘Suppose I deserved that.’

‘But since I am the better person-,‘ she rolled her eyes and shook her head, but listened on to his explanation, ‘I’ll give you a hint. What else did Romans have, aside from internal heating, that could cause hot _humid_ air?’

‘B… Baths? But how?’

‘How do they do it in Bath?’

‘Hot springs? Here?’ she asked in astonishment as he pushed open the door to the next room. It was an arched short and tiny hallway of about four foot, with roman scenes depicted on the walls in shades of blue. Venus bathing and mermaids sitting on a rock. She could distinguish more mosaics on the floor in front of them, shining in the cold light of the moon.

Babington anxiously awaited her reaction, and it was a glorious thing to behold. Her eyes jumped from spot to spot, trying to cover everything at once. The vaulted ceilings decorated in Gothic style, the smooth curved vaults on the side, the open side-chambers for changing, and the half-open elevated side-chamber underneath a dome structure with a small round bath. But most of her attention was drawn to the magnificent stained glass windows and the huge pool in front of them. It spanned nearly the entire length of the room, with rows of replica roman columns around the entirety of it. Steam rose from the large rectangular pool which gleamed like a black mirror in the moonlight.

She hesitantly approached, yet again touching the columns, tracing the Moorish screens shielding the smaller rooms with benches meant to serve as changing rooms, the other small room with amfora’s and bottles of shampoo and ethereal oil, and finally, the round tub.

‘Is there an actual pump? Does it just stream up? Why doesn’t it cool? Where does the water go? If it kept on streaming in, all of this would flood.’

‘There is a pump. There was a door to the other side, in the antechamber, leading to the pump room. The servant use it for hot water for the kitchen, themselves, and for us. Usually though, I don’t want to bother them with having to fetch buckets of water when I might as well come down here.’

He gladly answered all her technical questions as well. After those had been answered, came the more historical ones.

The original bath had been Roman, and was still Roman. It had been neglected since the third century and had laid on the Babington estate untouched for centuries. It had never been destroyed because the local lords ad liked the ruins as a curious attraction. When, during the late Medieval period, the foundations of the present estate had been built, the uins had been absorbed in the building plan. The hot spring had been kept in use, and the Babington family had wanted to put a wall around it so they could keep on using it. As more information about the Roman period and their inventions had started being published, the information found its way to the Babington family, who finally understood how they could get the baths to work. And, since they were just as caught up in the Antiquity Craze, had taken care to restore the baths to their former glory based on books on the workings of the therms in Bath and artwork of Roman bathhouses. Indeed, where there were walls instead of beautifully shaped openings and Moorish screens, there were paintings of classical roman paintings which had been found on pottery and walls.

‘This room was an attraction for guests even before they were made functional. Whenever we bring our guests down here, they are simply ecstatic.’

‘Obviously. I doubt many people will ever have the opportunity to get into anything bigger than a small wooden tub. Of course, you people probably have bigger things to bathe in, but it’s never like this right?’ she asked.

Babington shook his head.

‘One can always swim in a lake, but this is warm. Hot even, from the looks of it. Very unique.’

‘You may touch it and feel for yourself.’

Female guests always blushed furiously. They disliked discussing their toilette, or seeing anything connected to hygiene. It is as if they wished to pretend they woke up dressed with their hair coiffed. Most proclaimed they would never sit in it, and blushed at the notion. Especially knowing others could use it, although it was perfectly clean in his opinion.

Most men were interested in the hydraulics and design, but saw it as an object of study instead of something one could use. Only his close friends saw it as a great alternative to the salty sea and ice cold lakes, and they didn’t feel any inhibition to use his family’s faculties. Almost everyone rejected their offer out of some sentiment they had to refuse it when it was offered because they thought it was just a polite offer, meant to be refused politely.

He wondered what Esther would do if he offered her. She’d lifted her skirts so they wouldn’t touch the floor wet with condensation, her arm stretched towards the water and fingers spread out to feel the water between them as she moved her wrist.

She hadn’t even been able to pretend to be indifferent to it. Hadn’t made a single joke from the second she stepped in. He had truly managed to catch her by surprise. She was always a magnificent woman, but she was most wonderful when she forgot her act and was just her, saying whatever popped up in her head and not acting in a certain way just to give people a certain impression.

‘Just above body heat’, she decided.

‘The one over there is just below it’, he explained as he walked up to her.

Esther nodded.

‘You’re always free to use it while you’re here.’

She looked up at him, one hand still in the water and the other curled around the smooth marble and stroking the mosaic on the side of the pool.

‘Maybe I will.’

She stood up again, leaning against the pillar closest to her.

The tense silence returned. If their breathing was shallow, he blamed the humid pressing air, but that couldn’t explain the fast heartbeats he heard.

‘No one ever uses this room. Only family and my friends. So when I leave, you’ll be the only person who’ll use them. You needn’t fear about anyone intruding. If you’re planning on using them, just give me a heads up, then I’ll instruct the servants to leave lights burning in here.’

‘Whether I will or whether I won’t, that won’t be necessary’, she explained.

She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, and with a barely distinguishable murmur all unlit torches flickered on, soaking the room in a warm orange light.

‘Ah, of course.’

‘So, do you have more surprises?’ she asked.

‘I’m afraid not. This was it. I hope at least some of the rooms I showed you will offer a way to spend your evenings in a pleasant fashion?’

‘I think so’, she agreed.

She hid a yawn behind her hand.

‘Though that bed now seems like a perfectly agreeable place to spend the remainder of the evening.’

‘Of course, I’ll take you back. I better retire as well, given I’ll have to wake up early to go to London and arrange my affairs.’

Esther nodded and followed him out, but not before throwing a longing look at the bath. Yes, Babington thought to himself, she would be back down here soon.

‘How long will it take, do you think?’

‘I’m able to get there by tomorrow night. I’ve already sent a message, so my house will be ready. I’ll have to talk to Sidney and Crowe about business, and how I’ll be needing a more fixed timeframe for when we discuss business since I’ll be spending some time here at the estate each month. I think I’ll be keeping my house, I’ll go to it often enough so it’s not worth letting it. But what to tell Sidney and Crowe though. We’ve been friends and business partners for so long.’

‘The truth makes will either make you sound insane, or will scare them. I’m guessing you don’t want to lose them so refrain from either. They’ll be sad probably, but you’ll be able to explain why you need to be at your estate more often from now on. Just come up with something.’

‘I can’t lie, that complicates things.’

‘Oh, right. Well, omit a couple of things, traipse around it. Can you do that?’

He’d already done that, with her, about the werewolf. He guessed he could do the same thing again.

‘Not like I have a choice.’

She eyed him sadly, eyes filled with pity.

She didn’t tell him it wasn’t the end of the world.

Because she disliked lying as well, and the world as he knew it was actually ending.

She didn’t offer false comfort.

‘No you don’t.’

‘So how long do you think?’

‘One day going, one day back. I think everything will be settled and I’ll have met all my business partners within a week. So nine days, I guess?’

‘That leaves you with… Uhm. We’re day twenty-three now? So that will leave you with thirteen days left by the time you return.’

‘Yes, about.’

‘Still enough time to do some monster hunting before you have to come here for…’

The full moon. The transformation. It never failed to make him feel nauseous.

They stopped at their bedroom doors, both tense. He didn’t know how to look at her, but he didn’t know how to walk away either.

Words of thanks burned on his lips again, but he knew she would make another comment waving them away again. And by now, he could only say those words so much without having to admit what he really meant whenever he said them.

Thanks for caring for me. I want you to care for me. Because I care for you. I love you.

‘I don’t think I’ll see you again tomorrow, since I’ll be waking up quite early.’

Esther nodded.

‘Have a good rest, Esther. I hope you’ll find everything comfortable.’

‘Yes. I hope so too. Good night.’

He nodded.

That was it then.

‘Basil?’

He lifted his hand from his door knob and turned around again expectantly.

‘Safe travels. Take care.’

He could only nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've spent hours looking up the usage of plants in magical spells (never let it be said that I write impulsively, I do but I'm a researcher at heart) so:  
> -Especially in Old World witchcraft, Rosemary is burned to purify a room or ritual space, it was also used to ward off evil spirits and nightmares.   
> \- Burdock gained a reputation among European witches as an effective ingredient in warding spells  
> \- Blessed Thistle is known for its usage in spells meant for protection, healing and cleansing by fire
> 
> And now what you're probably all most interested in: the roman baths. During my travels I love visiting therms, both functional and defunct. The most gorgeous and largest ones I've seen were in Hungary i have to admit, but those were very modern. However, I have a link to something I found on tumblr a while ago, and just the sight of it filled me with the need to include it in this story https://growingstronglikeahighgardenrose.tumblr.com/post/190475899365/yarti-testing-doing-a-little-custom-work-on . Since they also featured roman baths in Britain in the ever-so-inaccurate-yet-entertaining Vikings, and this is a work of fanfiction, I felt no qualms indulging in my fantasies. Besides, I did look up a map of hot springs in Britain and there are enough to say it is ever so so slightly possible. 
> 
> Growing Strong Like A Highgarden Rose is my personal tumblr (you'll find all kinds of stuff there, some may have even found my AO3 account that way) and you'll find that a lot of my recent aesthetic/collage reposts lately have been a significant influence on this story, so in case you're curious, you can check it out. 
> 
> As always, lots of love.   
> PS: wash your hands, stay inside, and take care of the elders in your family/your environment the coming few weeks.


	8. Rotten to the Core

She had never thought humans could be like this; caring, friendly, welcoming. It went against everything she knew, and even her suspicious nature and indifference were no match for her excitement. She had unlimited access to a huge library and a bath big enough to swim in. She’d only ever swum in a freezing lake a couple of years ago and had never been able to lounge in one of the porcelain tubs rich people used, she almost couldn’t wait to jump in.

‘Safe travels. Oh, take care, Basil’, a voice dripping with sarcasm mimicked once Esther closed her door.

Perched on the windowsill, one leather clad leg with a dirty boot carelessly placed on top of the pillowed surface covering the windowsill, sat Edward Denham.

Had he dressed in an ordinary manner, he would have made every maiden swoon with his glossy curls, sharp cheekbones and strong shoulders.

As it was, he was dressed in an absolute mockery of a gentleman’s outfit, wearing leather trousers, a purple coat and a pink untied shirt without cravat, revealing his tattooed chest. It made him attractive in the eyes of the witches though, who loved his peacock attire.

However, when asked, Esther would say the bright colours of his dress had the same effect the flashy colours on a bug had in the eyes of a predator: to signal danger.

‘Esther, Esther, Esther’, he tutted as he strutted over to her. ‘I don’t quite know what to say.’

‘Why are you here? Start with that.’

She knew well enough that when the coven leader appeared in your chambers unannounced, it was rarely a good sign. Edward Denham was a dangerous creature masking his true nature behind a humorous and charming façade, a truth she only learnt the hard way. Because once he was done playing friendly, he would start manipulating and being cruel, making you out to be the monster who was being unreasonable.

‘Yes, that is the question isn’t it?’ he laughed as he energetically skipped through the room.

‘After all, it is clear why you are here. Finally gave in and started working for a wealthy lord, hm? Even the infallible unmovable Esther finally cracks when the coin is good. Although she swore she would never forgive the human world for drowning her mother during her trial.’

‘If you are here to continue our discussion from a couple of days ago, you are mistaken.’

‘Come on, you were irrational back then, but I was generous enough to give you a couple of days to let it sink in and realise the brilliance of the idea. You can’t be _that_ stupid that you don’t recognise a good idea when it’s right in front of you.’

Her chest constricted at the jab, but she quickly swallowed the insult.

‘I have nothing to say to you. I won’t change my mind.’

‘But _whyyyyyy_.’

He was growing impatient now, bending through his knees to empathise the amount of energy he possessed which could very easily become aimed at her.

‘Because there should be no way to break the rules. You know them, I know them. Unless humans deliberately enter a deal, or they are indirectly harmed because of our doing, we cannot harm them to the point of killing them.’

‘Rules restrict our possibilities.’

‘They also guarantee that we all live in relative peace.’

‘Relative peace? Are you hearing yourself? They drowned your mother to test whether she might be a witch. They tortured and burned my father! Them and hundreds like them and they made it a public spectacles. Let’s just break those rules once. To guarantee peace. They already see us as the monsters, but they still think they are stronger than us. All I’m saying is that if they would fear us some more, they wouldn’t dare treat us the way they do. They won’t harm and touch us as much as they did before. Then we’ll start living in relative peace.’

He was holding her hands now, fully rolling out the charm offensive. His hands felt awfully warm. She couldn’t imagine how his touch had once created butterflies in her stomach while she now felt dirty.

‘No. We’ve gone through this. We aren’t meant to use our magic to deliberately kill people.’

‘They’re _humans_. There’s millions of them. They are _so_ replaceable and they’re _stupid_.’

‘They have families and lives and grievances just like us.’

‘And they would kill us just as easily. With a lot less hesitation.’

‘Are you going to find a village wherein everyone is guilty?’

‘There isn’t a village where witch trials aren’t a public event. How innocent are those who stand by and watch? You’ve grown soft and weak in those woods. That grimoire of Lady D should have been mine.’

‘You already got everything else. She trusted me with it, it’s mine.’

‘Just ten years ago you would have stopped at nothing to get your revenge. Now you’re working for them, living with them… Even wishing them safe travels? Have you completely lost your mind? You were never the brightest but at least you weren’t stupid. What has changed?’

She could feel his eyes searching her person, as if he might be able to read the cause of her change of mind on her body.

‘Maybe I grew up and stopped seeing everything in black and white. They’re not all as I thought they would be.’

A tense silence followed, in which Edward’s confounded expression slowly turned into a grin. Whatever he was looking for, he had apparently found it. Esther took a step back.

‘I thought you were serious for a second there’, he laughed.

‘Edward, please. We were siblings once, for the love you hold for our family respect the wishes of a dying woman and allow me my single piece of the inheritance. She gave it to me for a reason.’

‘You call on family love to hang onto the grimoire. Yet, I cannot call back on family loyalty to ask you to support me in my ventures? Besides, that’s cheap coming from you. I didn’t hear you reminding me of our family relationship when we fucked.’

‘Edward-‘

‘No, actually. Let’s keep on going. So, family relationships hm? Well, since your mother married my father, and you don’t have any other living male relatives, that makes me your guardian. Meaning that in the human world I possess you and can expect you to do as I say whether you like it or not. You should burn a village just for giving away a person’s autonomy like that.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No. Besides, in our world it is known a coven leader is supposed to lead by example, and every individual is expect to respect the ancient rules. I would gladly help you to excel in every kind of magic out there, inventing new spells and potions and whatnot, but I won’t help you if it means breaking the few rules our world has for the sake of revenge.’

Edward rolled with his eyes, patience now used up. He grasped her by her chin.

‘What is it with you? All dressed up in these silly frilly clothes, living with this man… I would almost say… ‘

She hadn’t done anything wrong, yet she couldn’t help but feel nervous underneath his gaze.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a client, he simply lives too far away for me to stay at home while working.’

Edward nodded sagely, letting loose his hold on her chin go and turning away from her.

‘I must say you have downgraded if you think that buffoon is attractive. You used to have such good tastes… Dear sister, it matters not what the truth is. How do you think they will treat you or how they’ll think of you when they catch wind of you living in the house of a rich man and sleep in a room across of him? They all remember how you wanted to kill all humans just years ago, and then he came in and suddenly you switched sides and are now advocating peace.’

It would be the death of her. They wouldn’t take her seriously, and might even distrust her. It wouldn’t be the first time a witch got close with humans to save her own skin and turned against her own kind.

‘Don’t.’

‘I won’t. If you give me the grimoire with the loophole.’

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I shall be magnanimous and give you a week to give your final answer. Here, burn this and I’ll come and find you’, he announced while pushing a dried flower in her hand.

As Esther looked at the flower, Edward Denham took long strides to the window. He was ready to disappear into the now raining sky.

‘Edward no. Come on, we can talk about this. Please –‘

She took steps towards him as he slowed down and reached forward to open the window.

One week. He knew exactly what kind of choice he pushed her into. Handing over the grimoire and killing hundreds of innocents, or losing her place in the coven and ruining her own life.

No, she had to snap out of it. He always managed to make her feel weak.

‘Edward Denham! Don’t you dare leave this room!’

Lightning and thunder.

She was losing hold of herself.

She’d worked so hard to establish a life for herself, to grow and become independent. Yet one visit of him was enough to destroy her self-confidence.

The knock on the door took her by complete surprise.

‘Esther?’

Of course.

‘No. Don’t come in!’

Edward lifted his eyebrows. She could die, why did Basil have to knock on the door just as she insisted they only had a professional relationship.

‘Esther, are you causing the weather? Are you alright?’

He was _worried_.

‘Yes. No. leave me be, it’ll blow over any minute now.’

‘The coven’s going to love this’, Edward smirked as he stepped onto the bench.

The door creaked, and in the two seconds she looked towards the door over her shoulder, Edward had disappeared.

‘What? I told you it would blow over!’ she cried as another lightning bolt lit up the night sky.

‘I’m sorry’, he apologized.

He looked around the room, eyes travelling between Esther and the wide open window. His shoulders lifted. She could see the dots connecting in his eyes.

‘… Is it just me, or did I hear a male voice?’

Her entire body was still tense with anger and frustration, so she could only shake her shoulders and wave her hand at the room to show its emptiness.

How could she explain her coven leader had sneaked into his house? Would he even believe he did that against Esther’s wishes? He was clearly worried, but what could she tell him? She could only try to get a hold of her emotions as quickly as possible and put an end to the rain.

Her attempt at calming herself didn’t help. Was it really so wrong to be against Edward’s idea? No, it wasn’t. His idea was a violation of the rules. Saying no was the right thing to do. However, he had a point. Most humans would indeed gladly assist and watch a witch trial, they didn’t see witches as humans. It wouldn’t hurt her if he destroyed a village, and it meant she would get to keep her position in the coven.

She was already ostracized by humankind, she couldn’t be cast out of witch society as well.

‘Is it too hot in the room for your liking?’

‘What? No. It just blew open because of the wind.’

‘Because of the wind?’

Another deep breath.

‘Listen, don’t worry. I manage. I’m sorry.’

Edward had called her a pathetic stupid failure. And perhaps she was. She couldn’t get a grip on her emotions, and she couldn’t even make up convincible excuses.

‘Esther? Esther?’

She could feel pressure on her shoulders. She didn’t see anything. She couldn’t either. Her eyes were pointed solely at the night sky. She’d crossed the room and was now standing right where Edward had last stood before disappearing.

One week.

‘Esther? Please?’

She could now feel a body behind hers.

Basil.

Not in her moment of weakness. Not when she felt these confusing emotions regarding him. Not when Edward was about to use their relationship to put pressure on her.

‘I apologize for trespassing, but I feared you were distressed.’

‘I’m not. How would you know! Do you think you can just walk into a woman’s bedroom? If I was a normal woman, my family would see you in court for pushing your boundaries. I told you to keep out.’

‘Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t enter unless you allowed me in your room. But since I don’t know the limits of your strength, or the resilience of my house, I felt the need to visit you.’

‘What?’

Two arms appeared from opposite sides of her, reaching for the windows to close them. He shut them with a decisive thud. A storm was raging outside, rain beating down the window and the wooden framework creaking because of the wind. She was causing a storm.

She shook her head, biting her lip.

She needed time. She couldn’t deal with him, and Edward and the werewolf thing all at once. Her head was too crowded.  
  


A thunder shook her out of her own head.

Allowing the stress to stream through her would help no-one.

First, the rain lessened, next the wind slowed down, and finally, the sky cleared up again.

‘Now, I don’t want to assume, and I know you don’t like me all too well, but I just want you to know that if you are distressed, you can talk to me. I know – ‘

‘You know nothing.’

He had to go. She needed time and space. Her life was about to come crashing down.

He remained silent, quietly offering her his handkerchief.

She immediately felt guilty for lashing out. He never meant any harm, and had simply been awoken because of a massive storm. It wasn’t his fault Edward used him to coerce her into handing him the Grimoire. He always cared about everything, how could he not seek her out? It wasn’t in his nature. That was what got him into this trouble to begin with.

‘I can’t explain. Sorry to have disturbed you.’

‘It is fine as long as you are.’

She wasn’t so stupid as to actually consider him an idiot. He was quite perceptive and he knew something was amiss. This was him asking her to talk. All this time, he’d been encouraging mutual trust in their acquaintance. Yet until now that had come down to him talking about himself and she rarely even bothering to explain herself.

‘I will be’, it was the closest she could come to the truth.

He nodded, and just like that the panic was over and they became just two people standing back to chest in front of the window admiring the waning half of the moon. World’s most morbid countdown clock. Babington stilled, having become aware of their position as well.

They hadn’t exchanged many friendly words since their fight until tonight, and she’d missed that. But she was barely able to admit that to herself.

Her encounter with Edward had left her raw though, feeling weak and small and insignificant. She didn’t know whether he picked up on it, or just picked up on the change in atmosphere, as they both gravitated towards each other.

She could feel his soft warm lips trailing down her neck while his arms slid across her stomach.

She had to stop him. Nothing good could come of this. And now every touch felt like she was giving Edward a reason to tell the coven, even though he had just assumed what their relationship was and didn’t have any actual proof.

His thumbs started massaging her hips as his hands clung onto her. Her heartbeat immediately picked up again. She couldn’t understand how just one touch of him made her body burn.

Whether she slept with him or not, it wouldn’t matter to Edward. Refusing him now wasn’t going to stop Edward.

She sighed and gave into the sensations, melting into his arms. Noticing the shift, he quickly lead her to the bed and freed her from her clothes.

‘Wasn’t it a perfectly suitable dress for your fancy supper?’ Esther couldn’t help herself but asking.

 _Silly frilly dress_ , a voice whispered in her head.

‘Didn’t look like you at all. I wish I’d never told you. I like your usual style just fine’, he answered as he pulled at the pins in her hair.

‘I’m afraid I’m not made to be a lady. Like a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.’

He stilled.

Shit.

She grasped for him, helping him lose all clothes he hadn’t yet divested in his own room. With his warm body against hers, she managed to keep all bad thoughts at bay, and hopefully succeeded in distracting him from the ever changing moon and his impending doom. The nip of his teeth kept her tethered to the reality of the bedroom, and the pressure of her nails in his back kept him from thinking about the future.

Their minds were empty for blissful minutes. She nuzzled closer to him, her hand resting peacefully against his smooth chest as she fell asleep.

🌗🌗🌗

Between the hours that followed, she woke up from time to time, and always found that they had changed positions but not stopped touching, until she woke up the last time to find him gone but the bed still warm. He had left, and she had survived the night.

She got up, wrapping the duvet around her before walking over to the window. They’d forgotten to close the curtains the previous evening. Dawn had arrived. The sky was still a gorgeous pink and beneath it stretched Babington’s lands, hidden beneath a faint morning mist. She spotted movement right beneath her window. A stable boy was walking around with a horse, probably getting the horse ready for the ride.

A part of her, however small, wanted to stay at the window and watch Babington ride off into the morning, but the part of her that was sleepy and stubborn told her to go back to bed and sleep some more. After all, it was a very nice bed as far as she had been able to test, since she’d spent most of the night so entwined with another being that she hadn’t been able to properly evaluate it.

Edward is really right if you want to watch him like some simpering lovesick fool.

She had only crawled back underneath the covers five minutes before Babington knocked and opened the door fully dressed.

‘I’m leaving.’

‘I can see that.’

A sad smile tugged at his lips.

‘I just wanted to say goodbye. And again, feel free to explore the castle and the grounds. You only need to call and everyone will try to help you as much as they can. I’ve grown up with every one of the aids. You can trust them with almost everything.’

‘I know, thank you.’

Babington nodded slowly, unsure what to say.

‘See you in about a week I guess.’

‘Yes. About a week.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter one, I guess there's going to be about four more chapters and then we're done!


	9. Through the Phases of the Moon

> **I took a little journey to the unknown**   
>  **And I come back changed, I can feel it in my bones**   
>  **I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see**   
>  **Now the darkness got a hold on me**   
>  **Holy darkness got a hold on me**
> 
> **\- Lord Huron**
> 
> **"Meet Me in the Woods"**

_A kick in the belly. She pulled up her knees and wrapped her arms strongly around her legs to shield the fragile area._

_She had only asked to play with them._

_‘Should have known you would win.’_

_‘She probably asked Satan to help.’_

_She hadn’t even meant to win the game. But she had, and now she paid._

_A foot connected with her now unprotected back._

_‘Mommy says gingers have no soul, they gave them to the devil’, the second child said as they kicked her hands._

_‘That’s how you win this game, you’re nothing but a chear!’_

_‘M-not’, Esther panted._

_‘Liar!’_

_‘Don’t all liars and sinners go to hell?’ the one asked the other._

_‘Perhaps if we kick her hard enough we’ll get her there and save her the effort.’_

Esther awoke with a start, sweat clinging to her brow. She hadn’t had nightmares about her youth in years, but her talk with Edward had brought the memories back.

The sun was quite high right now. It must be close to noon.

She was still shaking when she threw back the blankets.

Was it an accident this memory had wrangled itself back into her mind after all these years?

🌗🌗🌗

She was back to work in the mausoleum within the hour. She had a lot of experience with putting up wards and protection spells. Perhaps it was impossible for her mind not to dwell.

_‘Why must I meet even more warlocks?’_

_‘Because I said so. You don’t know what’s good for you. I do. How do you think you will make a living hm?’_

_‘What is the point of being a witch and not having to adhere to the rules of human society if you think women must still bind themselves to men? Besides, you didn’t marry.’_

_‘Well, I’m rich. How will you live, stupid silly girl, if you don’t marry? Make money of your craft? Only a few can do that. And then you’ll have to have a lot of contact with those pesky humans.’_

_‘Only for my job. Once I shut my door I can live my life.’_

_‘Just like your mother once said, yes. And then she got dragged out of her home in the middle of the night. It is clear my brother did not pass down intelligence.’_

_Esther was halfway up from her potion table when she felt her body locking in place._

_Lady Denham’s hand was raised at shoulder height._

_‘Don’t try anything foolish. I took you and Edward in out of the goodness of my heart. And I will take care of both of you, but while you live in my house you’ll do as you’re told. Continue that potion.’_

_Esther’s body sat back down on the chair._

Esther shook the memory away.

The meeting with Edward had truly shaken her, and now she had no means to distract herself.

Perhaps that bath would help tonight. Afterwards she could read until she dropped asleep. If she was too tired, she had a chance she would have a dreamless sleep.

🌗🌗🌗

‘Babbers! Finally!’

Crowe threw his arms around him. He could feel the bottle he was holding against his back. Babington smiled at Sidney, who grinned at the hugging pair.

‘You were gone for so long, my friend. What has it been? Almost a week, if not a week’, Sidney noted.

‘I was travelling and got ill. But no worries, I’m back now.’

‘Traveling where?’ Crowe asked.

‘Nothing too serious?’ Sidney asked in his typical grave manner.

‘Well, it certainly wasn’t the nicest thing to happen to me. But it could’ve been a good deal more serious.’

He could have died, it was not a lie, per say. Although Babington wasn’t quite certain whether dying could be considered a less grim prospect than life as a werewolf.

He allowed his friends to pull him towards the table, as the bottles on their table continued to to empty, and the amount of bottles continued to grow, he quickly caught up with everything that was happening.

Sidney was going to marry Charlotte the next month. And Crowe, well.

‘I, am going to get that woman!’ Crowe announced before walking over to the bar.

‘From one gentleman’s pursuits to another’, Babington noted humorously before filling his cup to the brim and knocking it over.

‘I can’t help but feel like something is the matter, Babington.’

Babington wished he could pretend, or even tell a little white lie. But he couldn’t even feign ignorance.

‘Being ill put everything into perspective’, Babington explained.

Sidney nodded, because of course he would understand.

‘All of a sudden, my life changed so quickly and drastically. I’m glad I am well enough right now, but it does make one think about the future.’

Sidney allowed Babington the silence, and as the silence stretched on, he thought of how he might continue.

‘I thought about my estate. My family home. I’ve neglected it the past couple of years. It isn’t in a bad shape at all, but I wish to spend more time there and give it the love it deserves. However, I feel I am not at liberty to give my home the attention it deserves when I’m in London for business all the time.’

This managed to make Sidney worried, confusion clouding his brow.

‘You don’t want out, do you?’

‘Heavens no. All I’m saying is… Well, I wanted to discuss it the coming week. You know, when we’re all sober, but I might as well explain it shortly right now’, Babington explained as they looked at Crowe’s suave attempt to woo a blonde lady.

Sidney was already making a mental calculation of the effects of not having one of his partners near all the time. It would slow business down, as news travelled fast but not fast enough and they relied on contacts they made during dinners and dances and game nights, additionally it would put a strain on their friendship. Yet, he knew that perhaps this change was inevitable.

Charlotte was a country girl. The big city was nothing for her. She was completely enchanted with the project of his brother though. And if he moved to Sanditon, he would cause the exact same difficulties Babington would cause. Maybe it was destined to happen.

‘I suppose it was meant to happen. We’re getting older, starting to settle down. You’re a lord, we always knew once your father died you would have to split your time between politics, managing your estate and our joint ventures.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, and the past two years you focussed on us and politics. Equations can change. I assume I will soon make changes to my time management myself. I never put a lot of time in family stuff, I suppose that’ll be quite different from now on.’

‘Change happens to every one of us’, Babington smiled. Though of course Sidney couldn’t know to what he was referring exactly, and so he answered the ingenuine smile of his friend with a smile of his own.

‘It does.’

‘Hey, I think I might go home. The noise in here is giving me a headache?’

‘Hm, it isn’t really noisier than usual’, Sidney wondered as he focussed on the sound.

Babington’s hearing had increased even more.

🌗🌗🌗

‘Out of my way, peasants! I need to empty my guts.’

Crowe pushed past two servants the second the bowls were lifted from the breakfast dishes.

Sidney’s eyes twinkled in amusement as he looked at Babington, who looked back at his friend with a smile. He had missed this, missed them. They had been his home away from home. Their dynamic was as comfortable as the dynamic he used to have with his family.

‘Did you stay for long, yesterday?’

‘About an hour, left at the same time Crowe did’, Sidney smirked before throwing some bacon, eggs, beans and bread on his plate.

Babington looked at the decorated table. It had been the most lavish breakfast he’d had in over a week. Eggs in multiple ways, three types of bread, jam, meat, dairy, beans, oats, fruit. He didn’t know if he could still eat a big breakfast after the past week, but the scents stroking his nose certainly encouraged him to fill up his plate.

Somewhere across the country, Esther must be having her second breakfast like this as well. What would she think of it? Would she find it a ridiculous extravagance? Would she enjoy it? Would she feel bad about what she’d served him during his time there? He hoped she wouldn’t. She was living alone, isolated from society and on her own. She couldn’t possibly have multiple breads since she wouldn’t be able to eat them all in time. Nor could she enjoy a lot of fresh meat or dairy. That wasn’t her fault.

Perhaps she was still in bed, buried between dark covers, only a small part of her pale freckled face and hand peeking out above the covers. The thought brought a smile to his face.

‘Red wine, Abigail’, Crowe commanded as he walked back in. Babington and Sidney didn’t even bother questioning their friend anymore. The fact that he was experiencing a hangover was already a fact to be celebrated. His use of alcohol had dwindled significantly since Babington and Esther had intervened. A hangover meant he had consumed an amount of alcohol his body wasn’t able to break down.

‘The way to cure a hangover is to get drunk enough to not live through one’, Crowe laughed as he accepted the glass of wine. He took a few sips before taking some bread and cheese.

‘Are you present now, Crowe?’

‘Yes, excellent. Light as a feather, as fresh as could be. Why?’

‘We have business to discuss’, Sidney announced.

Crowe frowned, his eyes going between the both of his friends.

‘Alright, speak Babington’, Crowe decided.

‘So, as I was ill, I started thinking about life. And I decided my estate deserved better management and more attention. I want to start splitting my time between London and my home.’

‘How much time?’

‘I’m thinking about spending a week there each month.’

Crowe nodded.

‘Yeah, sounds reasonable. I mean, it’s farms and houses and stuff. It’ll take you a few days to ride there, sort through papers and actually do things in person.’

‘Y-You understand?’

‘Listen, I know I am not the most responsible person out there. And I know I neglect most of the stuff I’m supposed to do, but I know exactly what I’m neglecting and I know what I could and should do. My father’s only a baronet, but growing up I saw just how much time he put into his estate, can’t imagine how much work yours actually requires.’

‘Luckily I have a good lawyer and secretary to help me, takes the weight off of my shoulders.’

‘But can we discuss the specifics later? I really rather eat and relax during the morning.’

His wish was granted. So that afternoon, the group started sorting through all their affairs, and made plans for when they would have their meetings, how they would deal with clients from now on, the overseeing of deliveries and the naval travel. Every element of their enterprise was discussed and a plan was made up to work around Sidney’s schedule as a soon-to-be husband living in Sanditon, and Babington spending more time at his ancestral home.

‘Mary, Diana, Georgiana, Charlotte and her mother and oldest sister are in town for wedding preparations. I had already invited Crowe over for dinner, are you interested in joining us as well?’

A dinner with his friends, all together and happy. How absolutely normal and mundane he had found those activities once not so long ago! Yet now was probably one of the last times he could impulsively join them no matter the time of the month.

‘I’d love to, of course.’

🌗🌗🌗

‘Was it to your liking, ma’am?’ the maid asked as she cleared the table.

‘It was, yes. Thank you.’

Since it was just her, the kitchen didn’t waste too much food on multiple course meals, yet there still was a soup with bread, a meat dish with two sides of vegetables and baked potatoes and a desert existing of fruit and easy rice pudding.

She’d eaten as much as she could while still saving space for the next dish, but she was incredibly full now. It had been great though, expertly prepared and they hadn’t skimped out on the spices either.

How amazing it was to simply plop down for dinner without having to lift a finger. She had been able to fill her day without having to schedule in all the preparations for food three times a day.

‘You take a great interest in our gardens, ma’am.’

She had been outside for the entirety of the day, and had managed to put two protective layers in place. She was working faster than she had anticipated, but she was glad for it. Of course the servants didn’t know where she’d been, they only knew she’d been outside.

‘I do. That’s why I came here. Lord Babington talked about these grounds with such passion and enthusiasm I simply had to see them for myself’, she explained quickly to the butler who came to take away her plate.

‘Excuse me for speaking, miss, and if you consider me impertinent I shall just take a step back, but if you are interested… my father was involved in the landscaping. He worked closely with the garden architect and my son is one of the current gardeners.’

‘Your family has been in Lord Babington’s family’s employment for long, then.’

‘Four generations.’

‘And do you not have any interest in the garden?’

‘I do, I admire the view, but I wouldn’t wish to get my hands in the mud.’

He expected her to laugh, as any noble lady would probably find the prospect quite awful although she herself was quite used to it, she feigned a small laugh.

‘Well, I had not yet decided on how to spend my evening, or my evening tomorrow, I would be interested in hearing about the gardens and grounds now that I’ve seen them.’

His face faltered a little.

‘Tomorrow, miss?’

‘Yes, if you can’t spare the time today.’

‘Oh, I- well. As a matter of fact my wife does expect me tonight, but it is no problem. She used to work here as well. She will understand.’

‘Understand what?’

‘That I won’t return until I am no longer needed.’

‘You aren’t needed. It would be nice to hear something about the garden, but you shouldn’t stay for something like that if you have plans.’

She had evidently failed in appearing to be noble. She was even dangerously close to being perceived as a rebel. These people probably didn’t think of the private lives of their staff, let alone allow their staff to prioritise their own family above the one they were serving.

‘Yes ma’am, thank you. When would you like it tomorrow? Perhaps I could bring the ground plans and some books to show similar designs.’

Esther wondered whether this man was involved with the preparation of her dinner or another important and evident task she didn’t know of. But as he assumed she had the final say and he had to drop everything to serve her, she was free to name a random hour. If he really couldn’t, he would tell her surely.

‘How about an hour before dinner?’

‘Very well, Miss’, he nodded before taking a step back.

🌗🌗🌗

‘Lord Babington.’

‘Miss Heywood, I’m glad to see you smiling and well.’

Her smile widened as she looked at the table.

‘Yes, it appears I have found reasons to smile.’

 _It’s been my pleasure_ , Babington thought to himself. She would never know of his involvement, but her smile was enough. Babington knew that not all the hurt of their first separation could be brushed over that quickly. The loss of trust, and memory of insecurity and memory of grief must still be at the forefront of her thought.

But Charlotte was although wise and young, also quite practical, no doubt she managed to focus on the good things. It was clear she and Sidney had a burning passion for one another, even though it was dampened by the recent past. They would be able to sort through it and have their happy ever after.

‘Sidney and Crowe haven’t been misbehaving too much?’

‘Not that I know of… Although Mr. Crowe sure has been making an effort to be charming’, Charlotte answered with an unconvincing smile and furrowed brows as she looked across the table to where Crowe was animatedly talking to Charlotte’s sister.

‘Do you wish me to reign him in?’

‘Should you?’ she asked.

‘Mr. Crowe is my dear friend and I love him’, Babington confessed as he looked at the pair.

‘However, as his friend I’ve also seen sides of him which cannot be described as recommendable in a suitor. However, I’ve known him since he was a young rake. He can change, he already changed a lot in the past. It would depend on whether your family would want someone like him, and whether they care about each other. For all we know, they might just be having a pleasant conversation.’

Crowe conspiratorially whispered in her ear, after which she laughed and hit his shoulder.

Charlotte’s smile crumbled a little, and Babington couldn’t help but offer her a comforting smile.

‘I just know how I was back when I first left Willingden, I was so young and naïve, I still feel like that from time to time. I have not spent a lot of time with Mr. Crowe, so I don’t wish to make a lot of assumptions. But is he quite wordly while she is so shielded. He’s met so many people while Alison hasn’t. And then there’s…’

‘The occasional drinking?’

Charlotte nodded mutely.

‘Yes they are very different. She knows perhaps not what is normal for city men, or how to handle the baggage that comes with being together with a man with his past, while he may expect a great deal more from women because of the circles he’s moved in. However, we all know there is little logic involved in the matters of the heart. Should they really be fond of each other, they will learn to navigate their differences.’

‘I know. And I would never try to meddle when two people love each other. I’m just worried, because I know…’

Her throat bobbled. She couldn’t even finish her sentence. She knew how hard it could be to accidentally find yourself in love with a man with baggage, with considerable differences in temperament, experience and social status. She bit her lip.

Yet, he could relate to her struggle and worry, despite being so much older and more privileged.

‘I understand you, Miss Heywood. Truly. I will subtly ask him about his intentions, and then we’ll watch them.’

Charlotte nodded.

‘Lord Babington, last summer during the ball here in London, do you remember the conversation we had?’

_‘You're a... woman, Miss Heywood. Tell me this, is it possible for your affections towards a person to alter entirely within the space of a single day?’_

‘Ah, yes.’

It was a question he had struggled with for years but had never found the right person to ask. Men did not generally discuss feelings, and his friends were quite emotionally stunted. His sister and mother would have definitely pried too much, so eventually after six years he’d asked the question to Charlotte, since he knew her well enough but not too well.

‘We never quite finished that conversation since I was quite preoccupied at the time. Seeing you now, the memory came back to me. Personally, I think my opinion could change quite a bit, depending on how much I learned about that person. But I don’t quite know whether I could have a radical change in affection in a single day.’

Back then, he had gone from fearing Esther to being quite interested and fond of her. The second day he saw her, he had most definitely started liking her. And after spending real ful days with her, he was certain he was almost completely in love with her.

Back when he’d asked her, he hadn’t seen her in six years. Though the question was still relevant today. How had she gone from asking him to brush her hair and making love to him, to giving him the silent treatment just like that? How did she go from a polite conversation, to shouting at him, to ending up in bed with him in less than an hour? He could just not figure her out. She was an enigma he couldn’t wrap his head around.

‘Not even if the other person did something?’

‘Is Mr. Parker putting you up to this?’ she suddenly asked, eyes narrowing.

‘No, no. Unfortunately, I am asking out of my own interest as I’m having some trouble figuring someone out.’

Her face softened again, as she had herself had difficulty figuring her betrothed out.

‘No, not even then. They could make you incredibly sad or happy or confused in just one conversation, but it doesn’t fundamentally change how you feel about them.’

Now the question was whether Esther was fundamentally fond of him, meaning her distance and outbursts were just caused by her evident lack of trust in humankind. Or, whether she only saw him as an acquaintance she occasionally warmed up to because of a need for human contact and physical pleasure. He just couldn’t rule out the one or the other.

‘Can I be of any assistance?’

‘I’m afraid not. It is a complicated situation, and I cannot talk about a great many things which add to the complicatedness, and simply leaving those out would distort the picture.’

‘Perhaps you could… try? If you wish of course.’

‘You are too kind, Miss Heywood, and very understanding.’

She lifted her shoulders.

‘I’m just… me.’

‘And what a marvellous attribute that is to this table, I greatly admire authenticity.’

She looked away, taking a sip of her wine.

‘They say you refuse to lie’, she admitted with a laugh.

‘Indeed, I simply cannot even should I wish to. I’m afraid I’m incapable of pretence.’

‘How much easier everything would be if people always meant what they said, and were outright about their desires and wishes.’

‘Indeed, what a great world that would be. Alas’, he laughed as he took a sip of his own drink.

‘I guess the truth is that I am in love. And that I do not know whether the lady I admire cares for me but has a hard time showing it because of the situation we are in, or whether she doesn’t care for me but occasionally treats me well because since we cannot escape each other’s company from time to time it is easier to be pleasant. On top of that we come from very different places, from very different backgrounds, have very different outlooks and plans in life and no one would approve of the match.’

‘Of course, we know that love doesn’t listen to any kind of logic.’

‘Well played, Miss Heywood.’

‘It appears you know well enough that all those things can be worked through, if people really love each other. You are not certain whether she loves you. You appear to be quite certain she doesn’t. You’re thinking of all the reasons why she wouldn’t choose to be with you.’

‘She’s quite practical. Even if she did care for me, she would definitely be the type who still makes rational decisions. And being together would be quite an irrational choice.’

‘I don’t know, would it?’

‘Alright Babington, if you excuse me I would like to have my fiancée back’, Sidney smirked as he placed his hand on hers ever so shortly.

‘Oh, by all means. I think we were just about finished, right Miss Heywood?’

‘Quite.’

‘Thank you for your conversation, it certainly gave me some food for thought.’

🌗🌗🌗

Perhaps she shouldn’t have plucked a foxglove just to call her friends. But four days hadn’t been enough for her to make a decision and she desperately needed to vent.

‘Oh, Esther. I already sensed something familiar, that’s why I came to check up here for myself. You know I am supposed to either steal away or broker a deal with those who pluck it, but I take it you have a reason for plucking one? Oh well, I can put it in my vase at home I guess.’

Blodeuwedd.

‘It’s Edward.’

‘Oh, witch drama. I love it’, she laughed as she plopped down on the ground. She gestured for Esther to sit down with her. She did, sighing as she spread out her red coat on the grass.

‘He wants me to give him Lady Denham’s book.’

‘Ah, the one you got. Yes, I remember the book.’

Blodeuwedd was centuries old. She had been alive back when the cow whose skin covered the book was still a little calf. The book was three generations old, and had come into Lady Denham’s position after her grandmother had died. It contained spells, hexes and potions collected across the last ten years of great-grandfather Denham, grandmother Denham and Lady Denham, before ending up in Esther’s hands. It was a book meant to be treated with care. The only person who had gotten access to the book beneath the age of fifty had been Lady Denham herself, who had been wise and smart since she was a teenager. The woman had outbursts of anger and quite the temperament but had never used magic impulsively or when emotional, except for the one time she had cursed a man she was in love with when he got engaged to another.

Esther could safely say that about ninety percent of the book was safe for general consumption. But then there was the ten percent existing of cruel, challenging and dangerous spells and potions that could backfire for the person creating them, and cause harm for others. They would not do well in the hands of an egocentric, temperamental and spiteful man like Edward Denham.

‘If I don’t give it to him, he’ll throw me out of the coven.’

‘He can’t do that.’

‘No, but he knows of a way to ostracise me.’

‘That man!’ she cried as she fell down the grass, her eyes turned a rancorous red. Though Lady Denham hadn’t particularly looked out for other magical beings, Edward hadn’t shied away from showing his awful hierarchical outlook on the world. He clearly saw witches and warlocks as being above humans and above most magical creatures. A horrible double standard for one who condemned humans for their unfair treatment of witches.

‘I never liked him. If it was up to me and had I known what Lady Denham was about to do, I would have talked her out of it and convinced her to appoint you as the next coven leader.’

‘You couldn’t have. You know just as well as I do that when the head dies, people are able to present themselves as candidates after which the coven will hold a vote.’

‘Yes, yes. But we all know that if the previous head openly approves of a candidate the chances of the winning are huge.’

‘I know. But I didn’t even consider giving myself up. I was still in the middle of the whole Edward drama and then there was Clara and the whole inheritance trouble… I just wasn’t in the headspace for it.’

Her pale pink hand with long green nails sought out Esther’s.

‘What does he even have on you that would cause the other coven members to throw you aside?’

‘He thinks I’m together with Basil. And he’s pretty sure given my background – and virtually everyone’s experiences with humans – that they’ll cast me aside as a turncoat.’

‘Basil? Oh, is he the cute one with the green eyes?’

She’d given his name away, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about her slip-up, not when her future was at stake.

‘The only human you’ve ever met in my home’, Esther sighed.

‘The one I kissed.’

‘Yes, yes that one! As I said, it’s not like there’s another one’, Esther huffed.

The fairy appraised her friend. She was annoyed, and had obviously been missing out on some sleep. It wasn’t odd, considering she was currently under immense pressure. She didn’t know how it could be resolved. Of course, Blodeuwedd wouldn’t be affected. Whether Esther was in or out of the coven, she would still live in her old trusty house in the woods and would remain the same person she always was. However, she was obviously distressed.

‘But you haven’t done anything with him. I didn’t smell him on you, or vice versa when we last visited you. You can easily expose his lie.’

‘But who would they believe? Me or him?’

‘Didn’t your fellow coven members respect you? Why wouldn’t they listen to you?’

‘Everyone is sensitive about humans. We’ve all had our experiences with humans hunting us down. And we’ve all known a turncloak who left the community or told humans too much.’

‘But surely, they would know that you wouldn’t get together with a human in any way, no matter how cute.’

‘Stop calling him cute.’

‘But Esther, you aren’t together with him. I don’t get it.’

She was miserable. Esther drew up her knees and hid her face.

‘I might have slept with him once or twice.’

‘That means nothing, you’ve slept hundreds of times with – ‘

Esther could well remember, though she’d never kept count.

‘For them it will count.’

‘Oh, like they’ve never slept with someone they hadn’t planned to! It wasn’t planned, was it?’

‘Of course it wasn’t!’

‘Just some weakness of the flesh, ‘t is all. They won’t like you for it, but ostracise you? Seems a bit harsh.’

That’s what Esther told herself. Yet, she couldn’t help but know that to some it would make a difference. Not all would forgive her for indulging.

‘The only really bad thing would be if you liked him.’

And that was where Esther had gotten stuck, because she knew that if she called Edward out, he would call her forward to testify under oath. And she would have to confess to having slept with Babington. And if he asked whether she liked or loved him, she wasn’t sure she could answer negatively. She’d thought about it, first hopefully, being comforted at the thought that if he made her tell the truth she could expose his lies. But the hope quickly turned to ash in her mouth as she realized that although she had never analysed her feelings for him, they were far from neutral.

‘It would be an unmitigated disaster. I’m a witch, and I’ll always be one. I’m happy with my life and I love being independent. Just the thought I would give a man that kind of power over me is horrific. Besides, it’s not like it would be good for him either, he’s a Lord.’

‘Oh, Esther.’

‘I’m screwed.’

‘You are… Unless… Well, he is becoming a werewolf. That doesn’t count as human. I’d say it’s even less human than being a witch. If you’re asked whether you’ve slept with a human then…’

‘What if Edward is smart enough to say his name? And he will, probably.’

The fairy remained silent.

‘I suppose I could always give him the book’, Esther sighed as she faced her friend again. Blodeuwedd’s face, usually so animated and joyful, was uncommonly solemn.

‘You know he would use it for bad things.’

‘He wants to use it to murder a village.’

‘To – Esther you can’t!’

‘What choice do I have?’

‘Have you tried to use the tarot cards to check your choices?’

‘I can’t. It’s strange. I’ve never had this happen before but I just lost the ability. They stopped speaking to me, I couldn’t make sense of them.‘

‘Want me to tell you?’

Fairies could see the future, but it was a gift she’d never seen her friends practice.

‘Can you see my future?’ 

‘If I focus I can zoom in on you, I’ve just… Never really done it. I’m not really the favour granting kind when I encounter a human and I’ve never done it for myself… Except when I lost something of mine, then I did look to find it.’

‘If you want to give it a shot’, Esther shrugged once she got a hold of herself again.

‘You must know I see things which are certain, and possible paths that are not yet set in stone.’

Esther nodded.

‘The lonely witch in the forest is growing but is surrounded by those she opened her home up to, and so she shall die content’, Blodeuwedd said, eyes growing a foggy blue.

As it was the first thing that came to her, Esther realized with a pang of sadness that it was the most likely outcome.

‘Pain and loss are close by. Lost will be a way of life and a future once so certain, but another bright future full of fulfilled desires rises quickly and comes almost immediately though courage it takes.’

Esther bit her lip as she listened on. What would she have to do to get either the first or the second one, and how did they differ?

‘Five years of instability, a feud between brother and sister about the ancient rules and way of life. Battles meant to be fought, a battle for leadership, with an uncertain future. But no matter the outcome, known you shall be in the witching world, and remain in it.’

Her eyes grew grey as the future drifted away. So that was it? Three futures and none of them sounded good.

‘Only one sounded relatively good.’

‘Dying of old age surrounded by friends?’

‘The one about imminent loss, at least in that one I get a new future ahead of me which appears to be satisfactory. I always thought I would die of old age in my house, but detached from any kind of society and all alone seems kind of dreary. Not that I ever thought about finding someone to spend my life with but…’

‘You can always fight Edward?’ Blodeuwedd tried.

‘And cause years of trouble? I won’t do that.’

‘But no matter what will happen, you’ll make the right choice.’

‘I won’t give him the book.’

‘I knew you were a good person.’

‘Can’t you stay with Basil?

‘Blodeuwedd.’

‘What, this is his home is it not? Looks like a house fit for a Lord, and there’s only one Lord who’d let you into his gardens… I must admit I like a man with a good taste in plants.’

‘Well, he’s inherited the entire garden. I bet he doesn’t know the name of even a tenth of them. The only men deserving credits are the gardeners.’

Blodeuwedd shrugged unbothered and got up.

‘What are you doing here anyway?’

‘Setting up some kind of cage.’

‘Really? How interesting. Show me.’

# 🌘 🌘 🌘

Just how blissfully unaware had he been of the moon before, to have it above him each day and not think any more of it unless it was a particularly beautiful and bright moon. It was another small thing which had just been, never again would he have the luxury of being unaware of it.

He had taken to watching the moon every day, hoping against the odds and laws of nature that the moon would stay fixed on the evening sky forever. However, they did not bend for him, and that night he had to take in a pitch black sky with not a sliver of moon left. He’d looked through every window, hoping the moon was hiding out lower or higher on the night sky, but she wasn’t. The last moon of his human life had gone.

A part of him still hoped it was a joke or a bad dream, but the reality had proved that was not to be the case. He could still hear the butler and the chef talking downstairs, and could smell the soap he hd used in the dressing room adjacent to his. No, these had not been things he had been able to sense before. The new senses brought no joy. Their presence had one purpose: to help him track and trace his future prey.

With a defeated sigh, he closed the curtains, sleep evading him for a long time before it finally knocked him out.

Torn from the trees by the howling wind, the dead leaves ruffled past Babington’s town house, tragic victims of change. The trees still stood tall in the middle of the square, unbothered by their loss. Though bald, they still had powerful internal lives and were simply awaiting Spring to show it again.

Just like the trees were stripped of their lively appearance, so was an increasingly sombre Lord Babington who had gone to bed hours prior. And in the cocoon of his room, he, just like the trees, was prepared for a new life. His would not have to wait a season, only half a moon cycle.

No creature was born on earth without first escaping a womb or a shell, therefor the man who woke up the next morning, knew this was no rebirth. The only thing humans could do on this earth once they were on it, was die.

And death might have been the preferable alternative.

To his credit, he did not cry when he saw himself in the mirror that morning. Though one could not call the way he sank through his knees and sobbed a good reaction in any case. He had tried to be positive, but had gradually felt all joy and hope slip out of him. Now though, the last bit was knocked out by force.

Hours after the servants had expected their master to rise, he got out of his chambers and ordered them to cancel all his plans the next couple of days.

He tried to write letters to those in Parliament with similar opinions. And wrote some excuse about being ill to Crowe and Sidney.

He had hoped he would have at least had the month he was given.

It was not to be.

Even before the full moon illuminated the night sky, he had become a beast.

_‘The next tells you about how you should deal with the people around you and your surroundings.’_

_‘Fool.’_

_‘A new beginning. Change. Risk. An end to something in your old life.’_

How correct his strange dream had proven to be. Even before he had made that foolish decision, his dream had anticipated the change. Life as he knew it had ended, and indeed he was entering a time of change. Unfortunately the risk was he himself, to all those around him.

_‘Your London days are over, Lord Babington, the more people living in close proximity to you, the more people who’ll be able to notice that there’s something different about you.’_

_‘I don’t care for London an awful lot. Everyone is always playing a part and actively looking for drama and it disgusts me.’_

He had gotten what he wished for. He hadn’t cared for London, and now he would never fit in again. Esther had been right. People were going to notice something different about him, he’d just been too optimistic to truly listen.

🌑 🌑 🌑

It was the nineth day since Babington’s departure, and he still hadn’t returned. She hadn’t gotten any message since his departure and she wondered if something had happened. It was strange how they had never interacted for more than a couple of hours before the incident, and had only spent a small week together, yet he still hadn’t left her thoughts. Perhaps it was because she was living in his house, she liked to think it was.

But she had more pressing matters at hand than think about his wellbeing. In half an hour, she would have to meet her coven for a rare early morning gathering. And after that gathering, well…

She didn’t like to dwell on what would happen then.

Edward had returned on the seventh day, at the precise time he had last appeared in her room.

_‘You what? You do know what that means, don’t you?’_

It was clear he hadn’t expected any other outcome than her complying with his wishes. But she had refused. Vehemently even, once he started insisting and threatening with all kinds of consequences. But she was too old, too smart and too experienced to allow herself to be bullied into complying. She wasn’t his little sister anymore.

He had left, outraged and fuming, yet still expecting her to change her mind, since his final words had been how he expected the book after the morning ritual.

She dressed for the meeting, making an effort of her hairdo for once. Great care was put into her make-up as well, she would go down dignified.

🌑 🌑 🌑

‘Sir I enquire you to le–‘

‘- Bugger off, you’ve kept us out for days! I want to know where you’re keeping him’, Babington could hear the voice of Crowe snapping from behind the closed doors of the dining room.

He didn’t know how his friend could have gotten in. The butler rejected everyone, he was even certain the front door was locked. Did Crowe know how to reach the servants’ entrance?

He rose quickly, scanning the room for possible ways to escape. There was the main entrance, and a second pair of doors leading into a spacious living room. However, he knew escaping had no use. Crowe would keep on looking for him.

He counted the pairs of footsteps he heard storming through the house. He could already smell the wine, gin and cedarwood scent of Crowe. But there was a second new smell in the house. Ginger, leather and lavender. Sidney. Oh well, better to have it over with and see them both.

If he had any choice regarding to how he’d meet his friends, he would have preferably been prepared for it a bit more. He was freshly shaven, but he’d left his gloves on his desk when he’d come down for dinner. He supposed it could have been worse, Crowe could have stormed in during breakfast or when he was getting ready for bed.

Babington decided the best and only course of action would be to await Crowe’s arrival in the dining room. Anxiety and dread rushed through him as the seconds ticked by until the doors were thrown open.

Alexander and Sidney strode in, frowns on their faces while the servants helplessly stumbled in behind them, muttering apologies to Lord Babington.

He excused them and bid them to close the doors quickly.

‘You don’t look very ill’, Crowe huffed.

‘But…’ Sidney kept looking at him, his frown increasing, ‘there is something different about you.’

‘We got a letter saying you had taken ill and weren’t able to see anyone, out of the blue while you seemed fine the previous day. We were worried sick, and we got no updates either. And then when I was visiting someone today, I heard you’d been spotted visiting some other members of the upper house today? Care to explain yourself?

‘I’m afraid I can’t.’

‘Were you actually ill?’

‘Yes.’

‘And are you better now?’ Sidney asked as he took a chair to sit down. Crowe leant against the door, arms crossed defensively, ready to leash out at potential incoming servants or Babington if he refused to speak.

‘No.’

‘Yet you’re standing here looking perfectly fine’, Crowe wondered.

‘Not really’, mused Sidney.

Crowe blinked, rubbing his eyes. With age, his age had grown a bit tired and blurry, no doubt his lack of proper sleep and poor lighting while reading hadn’t helped, nor had his unbalanced diet.

Slowly, he started seeing what Sidney was seeing. The slightly larger shoulders, the hands which were now covered by a coating of dark hair running down the entire dorsal side, even covering the sides and all taluses.

‘Do you normally shave your hands?’ his shaggy haired friend wondered aloud.

Sidney rolled his eyes.

‘Babington, can you really not tell us?’

‘We’re your friends. And like, I know you’re usually the one worrying about me, and I know I’m not the best at showing I care… But I do’, Crowe admitted.

‘I barely know where to begin.’

‘At the beginning?’ Sidney suggested.

‘Crowe, can you ask for a couple of glasses and a jug of wine or a pot of tea, this will take a while.’

What was the beginning? Was it the full moon? That was the start of his trouble, but not the start of the story.

He wondered whether he should tell them the truth.

He had no doubt his friends held a strong love for him, but would it keep up against a curse? Against something beyond human? If they would believe him to begin with, they might as well consider him insane. He was already slowly transforming into a monster, if he didn’t inform his friends their bond might grow less tight because of his increased absences but they would still consider him their friend, and the same man he used to be.

‘Well then?’

Babington sighed. Esther had always been right about everything before, even when he wished she hadn’t. It would be foolish to hope she’d be wrong about what would happen should someone find out.

# 🌒 🌒 🌒

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I miscalculated. I'm really holding out for only an additional three chapters.
> 
> A little bit of playlist:   
> Corrupt- Depeche Mode: Perfectly encapsulates Edward  
> The Boys are Back – Ruth Barrett: Sidney, Babington and Crowe are out drinking and discussing business  
> Walk – Einaudi: Esther meeting up with Blodeuwedd & Babington meeting his friends after the new moon.  
> No Regrets- Ruth Barrett: Esther prepares for the coven meeting  
> Become the Beast- Karliene: Babington transforming 
> 
> Funfact:   
> I based Sidney's smell on the notes of the perfume Theo James is the face of: Boss The Scent by Hugo Boss


	10. Like no other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the sweet comments and encouraging me during the writing of this story ❤️ It means a lot to me
> 
> Also: who has seen the latest Emma adaptation? Oh my the visuals, that dance scene, the screens, all those actors I recognised as well. I had a blast. Included some Emma easter eggs in the chapter in honour of it, tell me if you spotted them :)

**How long, baby, have I been away?  
Oh, it feels like ages though you say it's only days  
There ain't language for the things I've seen, yeah  
And the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams  
The truth is stranger than all my dreams  
Holy darkness got a hold on me**

**-Lord Huron**

**“Meet Me in the Woods”**

After a long exhausting day of putting up wards, Esther had gone to her room straight after dinner. She’d put up a particularly complex shield, and it had left her quite drained. Her joints were aching for the sweet relief the hot water of the baths provided. As soon as she’d finished her dinner, she had practically ripped off her stays, and slipped into an easy red chemise and chamber robe to visit the bath house.

Something was different, Esther realized as she slipped through the heavy wooden doors. One of the torches the servants usually left her in the small antechamber had gone missing.

However, unless Lord Babington had returned, no one else was supposed to use the baths except for her. Perhaps she had left a torch inside yesterday, she had been rather distracted.

Deciding to explore, she silently slipped between the small opening of the second door, before quietly closing it again with great caution.

The light of the waxing moon shone brightly through the high arched windows, illuminating the thousands of small tiles leading towards the rectangular bath.

Only four torches were burning, one near the changing area, two on pillars at the front of the pool and a fourth one on a pillar halfway. But combined with the moonlight, it was enough to illuminate the floor and basic contours of the room.

She slipped out of her shoes, inching closer to get a look of the bath between the ancient pillars. Despite the hot humid air, she could feel chills running down her arms as she crept towards the pool, halting when she caught sight of a figure resting his arms over the far end of the bath.

It was a figure she recognized.

The chills disappeared, immediately being replaced by a pressure against her chest.

She hadn’t noticed she’d ever so slightly gasped for breath, inaudible to the human ear, but Babington’s heightened hearing registered the intake of breath, leading him to turn around quickly.

A humorous comment lay on her tongue, but registering the guarded look in his eyes, the comment died right where it had just formed seconds earlier.

‘Esther, don’t come any closer, please.’

The shyness worried her. He hadn’t had problems with being nude in front of her before. She wondered what had brought forth the sudden change.

‘Are you alright?’

‘As alright as I shall ever be. Don’t worry about me. I’ll finish up in a couple of minutes and then you can have the room.’

Something must have happened between now and when she last saw him. She did not recognise the shy and hopeless sounding person in front of her. She wondered whether it was due to an event in London or because now that the full moon was approaching, the fear that had only been there in small measure at the beginning of the month, had grown.

He sat frozen in the motionless pool which shielded his body from view. She desperately needed to know what had happened, but didn’t know how to ask.

‘As alright as you shall ever be?’

‘As far as you can call becoming a werewolf alright. You were right. I was quite naïve, I didn’t fully comprehend the gravity of the situation’, he laughed. His smile wasn’t convincing at all.

She had been annoyed by his optimism two weeks ago, but neither did she want him to suffer like he did now. She considered leaving, but knew that had always been her trick. Whenever she’d felt out of depth, she’d either made him leave, or left herself so she could avoid whatever their interactions would bring forth. If she hadn’t always done that, she might have figured herself out sooner, but instead she’d allowed her confusion and agony to torment her for prolonged periods of time. But she would not allow her emotions to come between Babington and the support he so obviously needed. She would not allow these torturous thoughts to poison his mind for a second longer. He didn’t deserve that.

‘Babington, I told you it would be heavy, but it’ll be manageable, really.’

‘Esther…’

‘What made you change your mind? You were so ready to deal with this when you left.’

‘Things changed… In London.’

‘About that… Very rude of you not to come and see me. You could have at least alerted me of your arrival.’

‘I only arrived a little over an hour ago, I considered you could be asleep.’

‘It’s only around nine now. You thought I went to bed at eight? Really?’

When he didn’t offer a new excuse or an explanation, she slowly walked towards the stairs at the front of the bath. She could feel his eyes on her as she sat down.

She had little experience with normal mortal men, but she knew enough of seduction to help her in the present situation, so she sat down, slowly fanning her skirts around her, not caring that they got wet with the water the humid air had deposited on the floor. She slowly rolled down her stockings, revealing inch after inch of smooth unblemished skin. She’d kept everything smooth since her first encounter with the elves, who were strongly opposed to bodily hair, she hadn’t heard anyone complaining since. Nor had she heard Babington voice any complaints. She hoped he would soon enough crack to come see her. He had never refused her before.

But she didn’t know about Babington’s sharper sight. He was perfectly able to see every mole and plane. However, he did not need to come closer for her performance to have the desired effect. He could feel his heartbeat picking up, desire flooding his veins and spreading through his body.

‘Esther.’

Her name still felt like a forbidden word on his lips, filling him with a strange elation whenever he spoke it out loud.

She eyed him from across the room as she slid her feet into the water, causing the water to form circles around the source of movement, creating tiny waves until far beyond her feet. She took her time to breathe in the balsamic pine scent spread by the oils he’d used. He could hear her breath hitch, her chest rising and curving as she allowed her head to loll backwards while she enjoyed the hot water.

There was no misinterpreting the suggestive position she assumed, immediately calling up memories to nights they’d shared. He could feel the beast within, lurking just underneath his skin, longing and hungering. It wanted to claim, to take.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the call of the monster. He had felt desire for her before, but never like this. The curse might already be taking his body, but it wouldn’t have his mind. Y-Not yet. Esther was powerful and free. She didn’t submit to anyone’s rules. The idea of letting the beast have its way with her was simply revolting.

‘Why did you avoid me? Has something gone wrong in London?’

Her voice drew him back to reality. Her usual careless attitude was gone, it was inquisitive… and worried. Instantly, he regretted his behaviour. He didn’t want to worry her.

‘No. Everything went perfectly. I even told Sidney and Crowe. Surprisingly, they believed me and promised they weren’t… that they wouldn’t… dump me so to speak. I know you told me not to tell, but I had to. Especially when they started noticing something was off about me. They were worried.’

It was a simpler account, leaving out that while everything had gone perfectly, he had felt horrible and had hidden in his house for days on end, drowned in an endless sea of panic, fear and self-loathing. His friends had just been able to pull him out of it right before he left. But he still wasn’t back to how he used to be.

The change, Esther realized. He’d already shown signs of it in her house as he had healed at a faster pace than what was usual. His fastened reflexes, heightened strength and sharpened senses must have come while he was away

‘I told you there would be some changes, relating to your senses, before the full moon. If they are your close friends, it is not improbable for them to notice some minor changes. But nothing that would be inexplainable. Though perhaps it is unfortunate you cannot tell lies. It would have been a useful skill, considering everything. I’m happy you were able to confide in them. Not many people would have been open and accepting of the truth.’

She rose, sauntering towards him. He edged away from the side of the pool she was approaching. But like a cat who knew their prey had no way of escaping, she took her time to to come near, slowly taking the pins out of her hair.

‘I’m curious to know what ticked them off though, that way we can know what to pay attention to, so you can keep it hidden from as many people as possible.’

She tried to get a clear visual of him. She doubted something like sharpened reflexes and better vision would stand out that much.

‘Your reactions weren’t as normal as they should have been from time to time, were they?’ she asked as she finally got close enough.

Babington shook his head, and as he did, she could catch sight of a dark stubble decorating his cheeks. It gave him a certain kind of ruggedness that hadn’t been there before. She wondered if he hadn’t had time to shave because of the journey here.

She noticed his internal struggle against the urge to be honest and answer her questions.

‘This is a wonderful estate’, he finally said as he turned away from her. His hands lovingly sweeping across the marble stones smoothed down by centuries of use.

With his back turned to her, she quickly slipped out of her robe and dress. She was done waiting.

‘It deserves to be inherited by someone who cares for it. Who knows what someone without a deep connection to it shall do with it? Duty, heritage, appreciation. This home is not only worthy of care because of its value as a building, but also because generations upon generations of my family have cared for it and have attached their personal history to it.’

His fingers slipped under the water clouded with minerals, fingertips tracing the roman mosaic.

He could hear the water being disrupted softly and wrongly guessed Esther had put her feet in again.

She’d never given him a reason to think she would stick around. Her presence in his life had always been temporary. He hadn’t exactly thought it through when he went to visit her, he had simply gone without expectations of what could come of spending time with her. His infatuation had led to him making the worst error of judgement in his entire life, but it hadn’t been her fault in any way. He was already grateful that she was willing to help him this much with a problem he owed solely to himself.

There had been a couple of kisses and stolen nights, but she had never given him reason to think she was interested in anything permanent, or a change in her way of life. Besides, she had made it abundantly clear that she considered werewolves fearsome creatures. Any chances he’d ever had – and they had been non-existent to begin with – were ruined on the night of the full moon.

The love and admiration for her were still there though, and as such he had difficulty talking about his need to get married and produce a lawful heir.

‘But what kind of spouse won’t be suspicious of my disappearances? What kind of woman would not feel fear if I crossed a distance at thrice the speed of a normal human being, or could hear every sound in the house. Who would have me like this? And if I tell them beforehand, what will keep them from running and picking a normal man? But not telling them isn’t an option either.’

‘Don’t be dramatic. I think most wives put up with their husbands being absent for prolonged periods of time. And don’t many women marry older men with very slow reflexes and bad senses? It’s something else for a change to have someone young with fast reflexes and sharp senses.’

She was a lot closer than he’d estimated. He slowly turned around, the water sloshing around him in protest at the movement. Of course, with her gracefulness, she’d slid through the water with barely any sound.

The water covered her until just below the level of her shoulders, her curls dragged down by the weight of her wet ends which drifted around her shoulders.

She could finally see him just as well from where she was standing, appreciating the firm and proportionate lines of his body rising above hers. It was a very different experience to seeing him when he was wounded and drifting in and out of conscience. The wounds on his chest had healed perfectly. The bitemark on his shoulder still looked angry, although even that one appeared to be mostly healed. It would probably become a nasty scar, yet he didn’t look bad. Had his shoulders widened? They never seemed this broad before. Her tongue brushed her palate as she took in the curls which were glued to the flustered skin of his forehead. His pupils were so enlarged she could barely make out the colour of his shimmering eyes.

‘It took me this long to realize just how different it was going to be for me from now on. You were right from the start, it will be hard to pass as a normal human man.’

‘Is that so? You look decidedly human to me. It’s only eight hours a month. All the others, you will look just like any other man.’

Their eyes slid towards his chest. Where before there had been just the smallest amount of golden hair, there was now quite a lot, covering almost the entirety of his chest, skipping around the scars from the scratches of the werewolf. Hair also dusted his upper arms, becoming denser on his forearms, before thinning out again from the wrists down, with only a couple strokes of hair tracing down his hands and fingers. It had also darkened considerably.

He hadn’t considered himself a vain man before, but that notion had been rectified when he had woken up one morning unable to find an inch on his body which wasn’t covered in hair. He knew the werewolf would have fur, but he hadn’t expected to have additional hair on his human form as well. Esther certainly hadn’t informed him of the possibility, but perhaps her books hadn’t held that piece of information.

‘Just because you look like this… doesn’t mean you’re not the same person.’

It didn’t mean he was unattractive either. Admittedly, his body formed a stark contrast with the bodies of faeries and vampires, but she didn’t dislike it. She reached out her hand, water trickling down towards her elbow as her hand rose towards his chest, nestling there between the damp curls.

The water had heated her to the point where her body felt thoroughly relaxed, but the heat touching him brought forth within her, was enough to make her very aware of her senses.

Babington too couldn’t ignore the feelings her touch stirred in him. Her hand felt so right there, even though he wished he could turn away and hide from her. The shame was no match for how much he craved her, he was unable to deny himself the pleasure of her hand on him.

‘Perhaps not. Perhaps I get to keep my personality. But that doesn’t mean I’ll still be human.’

‘Look at me’, Esther demanded, eyes rising to meet his again.

He had never done anything wrong in his life. He’d been the embodiment of kindness and sweetness and she couldn’t take it that his care for her had broken him in this way. He needed to be happy. She needed him to be happy.

‘Do you see disgust? Do you? You’re not disgusting. And I don’t care that you’re not human. Ordinary humans are overrated anyway.’

Unable to stop herself, she pushed forward through the water, her second hand coming to rest against his chest as well as she breathed him in. Allowing herself a final touch while steeling herself for the next part of her speech.

‘Me being a witch didn’t stop you from treating me kindly. And revealing your predicament to your friends didn’t stop them from being your friends. Perhaps I’ve been wrong, and there are good people out there who don’t care about what you are. You’re still a handsome, kind and wealthy man. There’s no reason why you wouldn’t be able to find someone to continue your bloodline with. The curse isn’t hereditary, after all.’

No matter whether he was a magical creature like her, he was still infinitely more blessed with privileges and friends. Odds were he would be able to live a mostly normal life. It was a possibility she didn’t like to admit existed. All her life, she’d told herself that her life was as good as it was going to get, that all magical beings living in the human world could ever ask for was a quiet peaceful life, not a happy one, but a quiet one. It hurt even more to know that it was apparently possible, simply not for her.

She pushed herself away, the water brushing up against her shoulders before sliding down past her. With great difficulty, she turned around, her emotions finally catching up with her as she realized with a sinking heart that it wasn’t just desire and friendship that she felt, but love as well. She reached forward with her hands to pull herself through the water towards the edge.

Babington could smell the fresh salt of tears through the scent of pine and minerals. His hand shot out, grasping her waist. She gasped at the contact, but her muscles immediately gave up functioning, allowing him to bring her towards him again.

The torches flickered, before extinguishing, leaving them in absolute darkness except for the moonlight. For a blissful five seconds she drifted, until the arms stilled and she was standing in front of him again.

Nothing about her behaviour added up. The tears still clung to her cheeks. And although her heart was beating madly, her body was relaxed in his arms. It was almost as if she… surrendered.

‘Esther, I know my chances are slim but could you… be persuaded… to have me? If not tell me at once, say “no” if it is to be said,’ he begged.

She blinked the tears away before focussing on his face. The meaning of what he was offering only slowly seeping through to her consciousness. The silence extended, it was not a direct no, which surprised Lord Babington, but it was far from a yes as well. A now familiar mixture of dread and hope puddled in his stomach.

‘You should not give your heart to someone like me. You don’t know what I’ll do with it. Might use it in a potion or something’, she said, her voice attempting to be unbothered and neutral, but it cracked halfway through, something she tried to cover up with a smirk to show she didn’t take his question seriously.

‘My heart is mine to gift as I please,’ he replied as he pulled her closer still until she was flush against his chest. Her hands instinctively shot out to hold his shoulders. She could feel her heart trying to worm its way through her ribs to go to where it belonged. Her continued silence encouraged Babington to explain himself further. After everything he’d lost, he could not help but latch on to the one thing which had always been an impossible dream but he could now apparently gain. Ever so slowly, he inched towards the edge where a bench was hewn out underwater, dragging her with him.

‘As is my sanity. You have far more use of them than I.’

Both their knees connected with the bench. As he bent down to sit, she drew up to sit on her knees, positioned right above him. Even though neither were particularly shy persons by nature, their positions combined with their nudity and mutual feelings made both blush.

‘You can’t be serious.’  
She reached out, hand cupping his cheek as her thumb stroked his stubble. She was already indulging in intimacies far beyond what was ever proper and allowed between an unmarried couple. Yet she could not quit herself, not even to appear independent. She had always prided herself on having a strong will, but she had never been able to pull back once they started touching, even when she was convinced it was the better thing to do. This close, she could finally see the green of his eyes in the flickering orange torch light. Just looking at his face gave her such an indescribable but strong feeling, it was like a fever taking hold of her, heating her up from the inside. She could just keep on looking forever.

‘I am. I want more. And I know you more than likely don’t and I tried telling myself that. And I would never dare to hold you back but –‘

His eyes were absolutely serious. She would have his heart. She wouldn’t just have a human acquaintance after losing her entire coven, but love and affection and trust for the rest of her life. He leant into her touch, the sound coming out of his mouth entirely unhuman, but even that reminder couldn’t change her feelings.

She rested her forehead against his, taking in the gravitas of this moment. These could be her last seconds as a lone witch.

She looked at him anew then. Fresh energy and decisiveness running through her. She took in the strong brow, the dark lashes, stubbled cheek and alluring lips and analysed them coolly. Did she even have a choice? She had, but then she’d choose to be miserable. Could this be what Blodeuwedd had talked about? The pain and loss of losing the future she had set out for herself as part of her coven replaced by another bright future of fulfilled desires? A future in which she would have to rearrange her whole entire life, but she would be with him? Could it be? Her nerves were singing with trepidation as the words formed first in her head and then on her tongue.

‘Very well.’

Her eyes fluttered shut as she moved forward to capture his lips.

Both her arms came to rest on his shoulders as he pushed himself against her, taking control of the kiss.

Had she just accepted him? A giddy laugh tumbled from her lips as she answered his hungry kisses. She was actually doing this, she could barely believe it.

‘You accept?’ he hesitantly asked.

‘It’s because of the bath. One hundred percent’, she smirked. She couldn’t stop playing with his hair now that there was no insecurity about what was between them.

Soft dimples appeared in his cheek as he smiled.

Perhaps, in a way, they were perfectly equal. Both outcasts because of what they were, with only one person who truly understood them. One functioning perfectly in a social setting but being woefully out of depth in emergency situations, and one who was smart but socially stunted, though both loathed false company and keeping up appearances.

‘I should’ve known’, he smirked before burying his face in her neck. An instinctive strange growl ripped from his throat, but Esther could only moan as his lips pressed against the tender flesh. 

‘Just, hypothetically speaking, could I… ?’

‘As long as you’re human, please do’, she breathed.

She didn’t know if anyone could have ever managed to get this close to her. He’d slipped through all of her defences like no one had ever managed before. Perhaps it was because he was like no other, he had singlehandedly destroyed all preconceptions she’d developed about humankind during her youth with his unrelenting tenderness of heart, warmth and his accepting and open manner. Her breath hitched as he bit down, obliterating all thoughts in her head.

‘Perhaps we should take our business elsewhere?’

‘What?’

She drew back, a move the water protested against.

‘How scandalous. Lord Babington, -‘ _what is to become of you?_

She bit back the comment, knowing how it could take his mind back to the future.

‘I thought you were a gentleman’, she quickly added with a smirk.

‘What can I say? It appears I am entirely under your spell.’

It shouldn’t have made her smile so much as it did, that he still wanted her, as a witch instead of in spite of it. No matter what coven she belonged to, no matter where she lived, and no matter how much it had cost her in the past, she had spent too much time learning to accept who she was to spend her life with someone who would pretend she was ordinary. Without ever having to explain herself, he appeared to understand her moods and feelings like no other.

‘If only there was a spell to get us right to the bedroom.’

‘Isn’t there?’

‘No. We’ll have to walk’, she sighed and let herself fall backwards into the water.

He laughingly scooped up her dripping body.

‘The horror.’

It was so good to see him smile again. She could feel her cheeks bending before she had even decided to smile.

‘I would offer to carry you, but there are the servants to be mindful of.’

‘Didn’t you say they were discreet?’

‘They are probably going to be discreet about me lounging around the house and not doing much for a week a month. I think it is another case entirely when they see me carrying around my very pretty female guest.’

‘For shame.’

‘Maybe we can hide here until they are done for the day. I take it neither of us uses them to get ready for bed, so they’ll leave by ten for their quarters at the latest.’

‘What are we to do until then?’ she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

‘I could assist you in tending to your hair if you allow it?’

‘Alright, I suppose.’

And so he did, diligently massaging her hair with rose and tulip soap until even the last bit of Esther’s spine and mind had melted. He gently carried her out of the bath, and laid her down on a dozen of towels on the floor, where they passed the time until the hour had gone by. Almost too lazy and happy to muster the energy needed to put on their clothes, they did so slowly, stealing at least another twenty kisses as they leaned against each wall and door they had to pass to get to the exit. They snuck upstairs like thieves in the night, hastily disrobing and pulling each other close again once they had closed the door, shutting out the real world until the next day.

Neither had expected the day to end in a happy way, yet both fell asleep happy and content, curled around the other, with a fresh load of hope and a new sense of belonging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, the chapter I had partially written out near the beginning of the story but kept coming back to time and time again. Originally it was going to be much darker, and leave a lot more unresolved, but I just couldn't. I can't keep Babington anxious and passive, he's a hopeful creature, he wasn't going to take my plans :p
> 
> Random researches for this chapter which turned out to be for naught:  
> \- What were regency era towels like: thin cotton, like tea-towels, even in the wealthiest households. Thicker towels were only invented around the 1840's and arrived in England by the 1850's.  
> \- How did they wash their hair? Apparently harsh lye soap for most, then there's a popular recipe which advises women to put egg whites in their hair and rinse with rose water and rum (delightful cocktail idea as it might seem, I'm not particularly inclined to put it on my hair), and then around 1814 a shampoo shop was set up with normal thinned soap and essential oils. Since Sanditon is written near the end of Jane's life and Babington is rich so he would've been able to get it, I went for the last option.
> 
> Small music inspirations:  
> Lord Huron - Meet Me in the Woods  
> Wojciech Kilar - love Remembered  
> Creedence Clearwater - I put a spell on you


	11. Them Days Are Gone

_**“I have seen what the darkness does.** _

_**Say goodbye to who I was.** _

_**I ain't never been away so long.** _

_**Don't look back them days are gone.** _

_**Follow me into the endless night.** _

_**I can bring your fears to life.** _

_**Show me yours and I'll show you mine.** _

_**Meet me in the woods tonight.”** _

Lord Huron, _“Meet me in the woods”_

She didn’t know what awoke her, but with a shock her eyes opened in a dark room. The moon hung low, and darkness was started to fade. Dawn would come soon.

A heavy arm was slung across her waist and a warm body rested behind her back. As she remembered the previous night, she was filled with a sense of peace. She had lost the future she’d envisioned and her place in the coven, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Without the coven, she had also lost her reason to keep the relationship professional. So if a wealthy, handsome and pleasant lord proposed to her, why should she decline?

The lord in question woke up as well, pressing his lips against the shoulder his face rested against.

‘Had nice dreams?’

‘I don’t remember’, she sighed while turning on her belly. She looked at him from behind the curtain of red curls. ‘Did you?’

He took a moment to reflect, but could not immediately remember the tales his mind had spun during his slumber.

‘It was a good night.’ A night without nightmares, that was, he’d had few of those the past month.

She nodded, holding his gaze. It didn’t differ from how she looked at him before. In fact he might prefer the way she looked at him now, because now her guard had dropped, and her eyes clearly showed what she felt. For the first time in days, he felt human and normal.

He reached out, brushing her hair behind her ear. She was absolutely stunning.

She stretched to revive her muscles, before laying her head down on her arms. His gaze slipped to were his hand lay on her back. He had an uninterrupted view of her side. Where previously a date and a drawing had been, there were now only two big black splashes of ink. He wondered whether he was merely seeing it wrong in the dark bedroom.

‘Esther.’

‘Not now’, she ordered.

He stored the piece of information for later use, and drew her closer to him.

‘I have to go to my room before the servants notice I’m in yours. We don’t want your reputation to suffer’, he announced before pressing his lips against her forehead. ‘See you downstairs for breakfast?’

‘Fine’, she drawled, but took hold of his hand with a smile. He smiled back, and bent forward for a kiss. She answered greedily.

They had never woken up together in an unpleasant manner, but every time something had separated them throughout the day. However, they were engaged now. This time, it was permanent and real and nothing would drive a wedge between them. His heart soared as he deepened the kiss. She moaned, rolling on her back again and pulling him with her.

‘Mhm, we shouldn’t. We don’t have the time’, Babington muttered.

‘This is why I hate society’, Esther complained as she nipped at his neck.

He suddenly realized he had asked Esther whether she wanted to have him, but he had never actually asked her to marry him. He felt the need to clarify, before a misunderstanding could ruin their day.

‘Just so we’re clear, may I assume we’re engaged?’

‘Well, I do hope you asked me to stay with you as a wife, not a mistress’, Esther smirked.

‘You’d fare poorly as a mistress. You, with such fierce independence and natural leadership skills, no, you should definitely be in a position in which you can order the household around. I would much rather have you as my wife.’

‘Good. I think I could get used to that. ’

‘That makes me very happy, oh mighty witch.’

He pressed a last kiss to her lips before pulling away with great difficulty.

‘I’ll see you in a couple of hours.’

‘How soon can we get married?’ Esther moaned in frustration as he pulled his pants back on.

‘Two weeks, the banns need to be read on three consecutive Sundays.’

‘Ah fuck, and we’ll sleep apart for that long? That is how many days? You were supposed to be back with thirteen days left until the full moon, but you arrived home three days late. So now there’s what, nine days left? It is a Saturday, so the banns can be read from tomorrow until two Sundays after that so that means we can marry in… Sixteen days. That’s six days after the full moon. You’ll be well enough to marry by then, which is a good thing. I’d really hate to have a wedding and then have you out of office because of your moon problem the next day. I guess it’s fine. Sixteen day wait, and you’ll be in a good state for a long time after the wedding. Could be worse.’

‘I guess’, Babington muttered dazedly.

It shouldn’t have surprised him how practical she was going to be about it all. She had told him she didn’t mind that he was a werewolf, and she really meant it. She talked about it like it was no different to him feeling ill or a woman having her courses. It was just a thing that had to be taken into account, without making it feel like something horrible. 

‘If it comforts you,’ he began as he pulled on his shirt, ‘we can still find plenty of time alone. Although I do wonder why you aren’t worried about… You know… being with child.’

‘Witches’ advantage. Plenty of ways to prevent a baby from growing inside my womb’, she smiled as he came closer to kiss her goodbye.

‘Nice to know that I’ll be able to enjoy my wife without having dozens of children with the added risk of losing her to childbed fever every time.’

‘I wouldn’t enjoy that either. Oh, wait, stop. Actually, can we go to the mausoleum before dawn? This is the perfect time to test the wards. I’ve installed them in a way that you can always get into the room, but that you’ll never be able to get out before sunrise. I’d rather test them now than have them fail during the full moon. I take it is about forty minutes to an hour before sunrise, so we’ll have to be fairly quick. Then we can come back to our rooms and pretend like we woke up in ours separately.’

‘Alright. I just need my coat.’

‘I still need to put all my clothes on, but I’ll be quick. Those stays can stay in their drawer today’, Esther decided.

# 🌓 🌓 🌓

The walk to the mausoleum was spent in comfortable conversation, although Babington’s feeling of unease visibly rose the closer they got.

‘I hope it wasn’t too much trouble?’ he asked.

‘It wasn’t easy, but I’m experienced enough’, Esther boasted with a laugh.

‘I don’t doubt your expertise.’

The magnificent burial place was dark in the early morning, a suffocating silences encapsulated them once the door closed.

‘Do I smell… Herbs?’ Babington asked as they entered the corridor.

‘You do. I’ve burnt many of them, and a good deal of incense too.’

The low curved ceiling loomed over them, the light of their lanterns only reflecting against the most nearby stones. Usually this corridor, if the door leading towards the stairs and corridor was left open, still had some daylight, however now it was as dark and menacing as a dungeon. The end could not be seen, and a look behind you only provided darkness as well. Lord Babington took a deep breath to keep his nerves at bay.

‘Ah.’

She halted suddenly, and he stumbled against her. Her hands shot out to prevent her fall, but they instead rested against the air. Her hands moved to the sides and up and down in the air.

‘The wall is in place’, she declared, looking behind herself to throw him a satisfied smirk. She dragged her foot across the ground. Only now he noticed that multiple white chalk lines were drawn upon the floor.

‘I decided that I would put the wall up here. There’s nothing beyond this part of the corridor for you to trash. The strongest of the wards are up in the room, but in case you ever got in late, they’re here as well. I also made it so that everything beyond this line is soundproof, however, when directly against this line, I can still hear what happens in case you are in need of something in a couple of days, so I can help out. It’s also a one way street. No one will be able to hear you, but you will be able to hear everything outside. I’ve considered music might calm the beast, or you as a person, on full moons. But since I won’t let any instruments come near you, having an instrument behind this line would be an alternative. I put a supply of wolfsbane potion in the adjacent room too’, she declared before opening the door closest to the white line. She walked in, crouching and holding her torch close to the ground. Rows of dark green bottles became visible.

‘The plant itself is very poisonous. It is said the ancient Greeks dipped arrows in wolfsbane to shoot wolves, and it was put in meat left outside to attract predator animals. This won’t kill you, but it is meant to stop shapeshifting. I heard from the witch I told you about that it won’t stop you from shifting into a werewolf, but if you take it you shall still be in possession of your human mind and reasoning. The mind of a man in the body of a beast. I don’t know if it is nice to be trapped inside an animal body as a human, however, it will keep you from causing yourself harm. You’re the only thing you can harm, since I’ve protected the walls and floor.’

‘Esther, this is all… Amazing, all that effort.’

‘Had to be sure’, she shrugged before closing the door. With the thud of the door, the oppressing silence was back.

‘Well, it’s about time you test the defences, I believe’, she explained.

‘Right’, Babington nodded. He couldn’t even look at the darkness beyond the line, and instead focussed on her.

She picked up on it, and got close enough to hold him.

‘It’ll be over soon. It won’t be long until sunrise. Twenty minutes tops.’

He clung to her then, hands holding her hips and lips stealing kiss after kiss. He was simultaneously trying to gain the courage he needed and delay the inevitable. In the end though, the decision wasn’t his, as Esther gave him a push.

At once, he could feel the stinging tingly sensation as he stumbled through the defences. Esther was still on the other side, perfectly clear. He could hardly believe there was a wall.

‘Well?’

He reached out to her, but was catapulted back by a strong invisible pulse, his body burning. He could feel his heart beating in his hand. It was not a gesture he would be repeating if he could avoid it.

‘So that works’, Esther decided. ‘Check the room?’ she asked as she shoved his lantern through the wall. Inanimate objects could still cross the border, it appeared. He picked it up hesitantly, turning towards the ominous dark wooden door.

The room appeared to be even smaller in the dark. There were no markings anywhere to indicate magical activity or the presence of wards. No one would know, upon entering, that this was a special place. He took a step inside, and jumped when the magic made the door shut and lock behind him. Instantly feeling trapped, he put down the lantern and tore at the door, first slightly, and then with growing fear.

It was _locked_.

No matter how much he pulled and shook and kicked, it wouldn’t _open_.

‘Esther?’

‘Yes?’

‘The door!’

‘Yes, the corridor was just in case you got in late, but the door will shut itself once you are inside, another precaution. If somebody would be so stupid as to come in here on the night of a full moon, it’s best they won’t be able to see or hear you, you know. It’s fine. Honestly Basil.’

Except it was not fine.

His breathing grew shallow as he turned back to look at the room. The walls were closing in.

There was no way out, and no daylight to be seen. He was entirely isolated from the entire world, and had no way to break free.

‘I can’t do this’, he muttered.

But he would have to, for ten years.

One hundred and twenty nights between these four walls, locked away like an animal.

This must be what being buried alive felt like.

‘I want out!’

‘You can’t, it’s just for a couple of minutes. It’s fine. Man up.’

‘It’s not for a couple of minutes! I’ll have to be here for an entire night, each full moon!’

His forefathers lay only a yard away, rotting in silence. He was just like them now.

‘You’ll be a werewolf then, it’s different.’

‘But if I take the potion, I still have my human mind. I’ll have to go through every minute of it. And if I don’t take the potion. I’ll be a monster.’

‘Honestly, would you rather not be locked up? You won’t be able to harm anyone now. Try it with the potion and try it without, you can see what the better option is… Basil?’

He didn’t want either option. He could only think of being locked, every month, for years and years to come.

He sank through his knees, properly hyperventilating.

‘I can’t do this.’

‘You can’, Esther comforted him, her voice muffled through the wall and door.

‘I can’t’, Babington cried.

‘I can’t. I’m weak. I’m not up for it. I can’t do this. I can’t. Can’t kill a man, can’t live either. I should have just killed him… I should have killed him when I had the chance’, he cried.

‘What?’

‘The werewolf’, Babington cried.

‘Babing- Basil, you did everything you could. You already shot him once. Honestly, there’s not that many people who can say they’ve bumped into a werewolf and lived to tell the tale.’

‘But I could have killed him. He didn’t mind dying. I just… couldn’t.’

‘You’re not making any sense.’ Esther was growing more and more worried, but Babington, in his panic attack, could not hold back anymore.

He knew he was ruining it, but all the same he could not stop himself from sharing.

‘When I said I asked people and no one knew of a werewolf that was true, because they didn’t know a werewolf. They only knew the man. But they did know a wounded outsider. I told you I asked that question to the villagers but I didn’t tell you I received a _positive_ answer.’

‘You what?’

‘And when you asked about the neighbouring village, there was nothing to be found. I didn’t lie. Because I did visit the neighbouring village first and they of course didn’t know the werewolf. But I did find him in the village you indicated. He was ill and just a poor random forty-something… He was just a human. I- I couldn’t. I couldn’t kill him. I tried… I tried! I should have done it! The gun was already loaded even. One the pull of a single muscle, and I wouldn’t be here in this room today. And you wouldn’t have had to do all that effort. And he would be dead. And I’d have my life back. And the humans in and around his village would be safe. I damned everyone. I damned them! Why did I do it? Just one pull. Why couldn’t I do it?’ he hiccupped.

Esther shook as she took in the information. Tears streaming down her face. She felt for him, but she also experienced an acute sense of betrayal. His honesty and lack of pretence had been some of his most recommendable qualities, and now he had mislead her in such a way! About such an important topic. He could not have hurt her more if he had physically beaten her.

‘How could you?’

‘I don’t know. I wanted to. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry Esther. I’m so sorry. I let you down. I made you do all that work. If I had only done it, you wouldn’t have needed to do all this effort. And I lied to you. I lied… And how it weighed on me. Well, I didn’t lie, but I just couldn’t tell you. I didn’t dare. I didn’t want… So I told it, answered you in a way you’d think… So that you’d think… God, I’m sorry. I regret lying to you. I needed to kill him. I should have. I can’t do this.’

‘How could you! You literally gave up lying years ago! And you said you were happy for your inability to pretend. And now you deliberately and carefully constructed a narrative to have me believe _my_ attempt to save _you_ had failed. Do you know how hard I beat myself up over it? I thought this was my fault! And now I spent weeks working on this place to help you, while you should in fact have been leading a very happy and normal human life right now, if only you’d pulled that trigger. I don’t have to be here. This was all unnecessary.’

‘It was wrong. It was a mistake. I won’t ask you to forgive me because you shouldn’t, but please… Don’t leave me, Esther… I love you. I’m so sorry I betrayed your trust. I just couldn’t bear killing him. I left my gun with him, hoping he’d use it on himself. And I couldn’t bear telling you after all of your effort, and after how much emphasis you had put on how awful this curse was. I- I… I was afraid to lose you.’

Esther pushed herself upright.

‘What are you doing? Esther? Esther?’

‘Nothing. I’m doing nothing I should be doing right now. All of this, shouldn’t have happened. It’s taken care of now. No matter the fate you chose, you’re safe and won’t harm anyone’, she muttered.

‘Esther?’

‘Esther?’

‘Esther!’

That was when Babington jumped upright and starting beating at the door with renewed vigor. He punched, and pulled and kicked. Screaming and calling out to her. But no new answer came. There was no visual clue, nor a magical noticeable shift in the air to signify the beginning of morning. Instead, as Babington’s adrenaline and panic fuelled assault of the door continued, one second, the door just gave way, and he fell through into the hallway.

Esther was gone.

He raced to his home. Wasting no time to greet the servants who were already up and working, and instead racing up the stairs towards Esther’s room. Her stuff was gone.

She’d left him.

One second, even cursed as he was, he’d had it all.

And now he’d lost her. Not due to a curse or circumstance, but due to himself.

# 🌓 🌓 🌓

‘Esther, you’re back!’

Esther took a breath and steeled herself.

‘I am.’

‘So does that mean you’re done with that cage for your werewolf?’ the flower fairy pushed, happily hopping over Esther’s wall and plucking an apple from her tree.

‘Yes. And he’s not… mine.’

Although, she had accepted his engagement, Esther assumed that since she had left, and was still quite furious and hurt, they could assume the engagement to be off.

Blodeuwedd’s eyebrows knitted together.

‘Oh, honey, what happened?’

‘He’s just not mine. There’s… Nothing.’

‘But there was something before’, Blodeuwedd stated.

‘Is everything… all right with him? The coven didn’t hurt him, did they? Oh. The coven. What of Edward?’ she asked as she was reminded of their previous discussion.

‘He’s… fine. They didn’t hurt him, he’s perfectly capable of hurting himself. Edward doesn’t have the book, I refused. So I got banished instead. There was a vote, I was tossed.’

‘Oh, Esther.’

‘It’s fine. If they’re this stupid I don’t need them. I was the one upholding the law, if they decided to support Edward, that’s on them. What’s a coven worth if they don’t support their members or uphold the rules?’

‘How- how about… your tattoos?’

‘Covered them with black ink in public. Without numbing anything.’

Even worse, they’d tied her up on a lying cross, as was ritual with throwing a member out, and had instead put a toxic component in the ink, so it would sting and hurt for days as they covered up all the tattoos she’d gotten signifying membership.

‘Fuck them’, Blodeuwedd growled. ‘Really. They’re awful. I knew Edward sucked, but I expected better of them. I can’t believe it. Oh Esther.’

Esther sighed, aggressively continuing the harvest of her vegetables. Dudda ran to Blodeuwedd, seeking comfort with a less angry person. Blodeuwedd stroked the feline as she sat down in the grass.

‘So, what did happen with Babington?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Well, I do. And frankly, I don’t think you’re talking about it with anyone and it’s not good that you keep everything bottled up without talking about it, hearing other opinions on it, or process it in any way.’

‘Who says I need to process anything?!’

‘Esther, you’re destroying your pour plants. Need I remind you that I feel them? I feel the lives of all plants around me and I just feel how forcefully you’re robbing them of their lives. You’re angry. Which means you’re upset.’

Esther finished up ripping the herbs from her herb patch and threw them in a cauldron.

‘Esther!’

‘What!’ Esther snapped.

‘You want the story? _Fine_. Before I started on the mausoleum, I’d tried another way of helping him with his curse. I found out where the werewolf lived, so Babington could kill him. I had something else to do that day, so I let him. He insinuated he didn’t find the werewolf there or in the neighbouring town. So we gave up and starting thinking of ways of how we could make the curse liveable. But it turned out he was skirting around the truth back then. He’d found the human with the curse, but hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.’

Blodeuwedd bit her tongue as Esther ran inside and came back with a couple of bottles, carefully pouring them into her cauldron.

‘So…’

‘So he lied.’

‘He didn’t.’

‘What do you call avoiding telling me something, knowing what I believed, and refusing to dispel it for weeks. Lord knows when he would have told me, _if_ he would have ever told me! Lies, pretence… That’s Edwards and Lady D’s expertise. That’s… That’s the characteristics of those awful witch prosecutors… To think I accepted his proposal just the night before! He’s just like the rest of them.’

‘He really didn’t strike me as an Edward, Esther.’

‘Guess he fooled us both.’

‘Esther, he omitted one truth. And honestly, I don’t blame him.’

Esther threw the fairy a furious look, stomping with a mortar in her kettle.

‘You’re stupid.’

‘See! Esher, you’ve done nothing but rage since you started talking about it. I can only imagine how you treated him when you found out. And you’re here instead of with him, despite that he proposed apparently! So that means you’ve left him. He looked like he couldn’t injure a fly if he wanted to. He knows nothing of our world, he’s a spoiled rich boy. He never killed someone, nor did he ever have to handle a very large responsibility like oh say the power to kill and let live like you do. You’ve had to do so much, you have been through so much. He probably never had to do such a thing before.’

Esther shook her head, angrily slamming her stones together to make the fire burn.

‘If he knows you even a tenth as much as I do, he knows how unforgiving you are. He knew how you’d react if he told you of his failure. You hold people to such high standards, and your faith in humanity and men is so low, really. You hated humans for years, and you accuse all of mankind, and men of all kinds, to be awful creatures. He made one slip-up, made one mistake, and you’ve immediately dismissed him and thrown him back in the group with all others you loathe. Hell, do you have any idea how hard it would be for someone to admit to you they fucked up? If he told you, you would have freaked out, so he remained silent.’

‘But he lied’, Esther muttered.

‘Did he apologize?’

‘Doesn’t take away he lied.’

‘But he did apologize, then. Did it sound remorseful?’

Esther nodded, a sole tear slipping across her cheek. He had apologized and explained the entire situation, corrected every misunderstanding, even as he was having a breakdown. It tore at her heartstrings even now, knowing she’d left him in such a state, even though she would love nothing more than to be angry.

‘Has it crossed your mind… that he was so afraid of your reaction that he lied because he feared he’d lose you?’

It hadn’t.

‘He hurt your feelings with lying, and that’s bad. He shouldn’t have lied, I’m not defending him. I’m merely putting it into perspective.’

‘But it changes everything… All the times we slept together… My saying yes… It all happened after he lied. If he’d killed the werewolf, we wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have spent time with him. Our ways would have separated. It wouldn’t have happened.’

It had been eating at her for days. She wished he never would have lied. But if he hadn’t, they never would have done what they had. The one night she’d felt hope and happiness for the first time in years wouldn’t have happened. But the memories were forever tarnished by the knowledge that it never should have happened.

‘There’s no saying what would have happened, that’s the thing about choices. Once something has happened, there’s no way of telling what would have happened had things run differently. You read cards, you know how sometimes, different cards and different choices still have the same outcome. You also know that the same card means something entirely different when placed in a different row of cards. But Esther, it happened the way it happened. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way.’

The steam coming up from Esther’s cauldron was blue.

‘What are you making?’

‘Oblivium potion.’

‘Esther no!’ Blodeuwedd shot across the field, toppling the cauldron with force. Esther fought but was no match for the centuries old fairy. She hit her and reached for the potion, until the last drop had seeped into the grass. The hands that had punched the fairy were now clinging to her, as bitter tears streamed down her face.

‘This isn’t the way, dear. You ran from human society, you ran from challenges relating to the coven, you ran away from getting feelings and getting hurt… it’s time you just embrace it for once, and live through it. You’ll see, people are resilient. You can go on from here. It’s just a bad experience.’

‘Don’t patronize me.’

‘I’m not. I’m centuries older, I’ve seen humans grow old, I’ve grown and learned myself, I’ve seen others evolve, just take this piece of advice from a friend, Esther.’

‘I hate him’, she sobbed. ‘I want to say he’s got what he deserved, being a werewolf and being alone… but I can’t punish him without punishing myself. And I want to hate him. But I can’t. And I want to call him names, but I can’t… Because he’s still a good man. It was hard with Edward, after Lady D died and the inheritance and leadership matter, but once I was over my heartache, it was so easy to hate him. But I can’t hate B-B-him. And… And I don’t want to hate him. I still want… I still want…’

Him.

A future with him.

And to help him.

But she couldn’t get it across. Her feelings had still been so new when she accepted his proposal, and within a day everything had changed so drastically, and now all the love mingled with sadness and grief.

She could still hear his desperate cries for her as she’d ran away from him. They were etched into her memory.

‘Hush’, Blodeuwedd whispered as she stroked her hair.

‘You’ve helped him. He’ll get through this full moon and all the others thanks to you. Now, take the time to think and calm down for a few days. Don’t act on impulse or emotion. Give all alternatives some thought. And then, decide what the best course of action is to achieve happiness. Do not decide based on what you should do, but decide based on what you want to do and what course of action will help you achieve your goal.’

# 🌓 🌓 🌓

‘Babbers, you in here?’

‘Leave me to die’, Babington moaned.

He heard the window curtains being drawn open, and quickly covered his head with a pillow as he knew the curtains of his bed were up next.

The curtains around the bed were yanked open.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Finally decided to take a page out of your handbooks’, he sighed.

‘Hey, you regularly told us that was not a good ay to deal. And we are both working on our drinking habits’, Crowe complained before pulling the pillow away. ‘What is it, man?’

‘Why does one drink?’ Babington moaned.

‘Out of habit.’

‘To stop withdrawal symptoms.’

‘Bad self-confidence.’

‘Annoying bastards, to forget, to drown sorrows’, he admitted.

‘What for. Has something happened between your departure and our arrival?’ Sidney Parker asked.

‘Brings me to question: why are you here?’

‘To support you. We know we can’t be there for you the night itself. But we want to show you we’re here for you. And to distract you, should you want a distraction.’

‘Seems we’ve come in time, as you’re already trying to distract yourself.’

‘It’s not the curse… Though that too. But that’s not the major reason.’

His friends took place on his bedside. It was a familiar scene, though he had never been the person lying in bed.

‘I guess I should tell you, about Esther.’

# 🌔 🌔 🌔

‘What is this?’ Esther bemoaned when she entered her garden seven days later to find Blodeuwedd seated at the chess table with a bottle of fairy wine.

‘Esther, darling dearest, a sprite cried after it accidentally visited a spell site of you yesterday. You’re not doing well.’

‘Well, so what? Can I be expected to be happy? I need to find an entirely new future. And I’ve lost so much in such a short time, surely I’m allowed a week?’

‘Indeed, that’s why I want you to sit down and talk about it.’

‘Talk about feelings with a fairy?’

‘You wound me.’

‘You switch babies for fun, enslave humans who pick flowers for an entire year, and hold big orgies. I’m sorry if I feel like our worlds are quite removed from one another.’

‘You don’t mind those differences when we are normal friends or bedpartners. You’re drawing the line at emotions because you’re afraid to talk about them. Sit down, Esther, please.’

Esther sat down at the table and wine was poured. Mercifully, Blodeuwedd kept talking about the fairy realm for the first hour or so, and only delved into Esther’s life once they were nearing the end of the bottle. In her cups, and feeling particularly lonely, Esther finally let go of her emotions once again.

‘I guess I’m… Angry because it changed his character. He was honest, and now he isn’t anymore. It changes everything’, Esther sighed.

She was definitely more articulate now that she had some days to process everything. She had taken a closer look at all of her feelings, dissecting the tangled mess they had become and finding the reasons for her emotions, and the reasons why those reasons elicited the emotions they did. She still didn’t get everything, but she did most. Though, she still didn’t have any solutions or plans.

‘Does it?’ Blodeuwedd asked patiently.

‘Well, yes. If a person is a certain way, and then behaves in another, that changes things. It means the way I perceived him before was wrong.’

‘Do you return a kitten when it changes into a cat?’

‘No. That’s natural growth’, Esther answered as she stroked Dudda who contently lounged on her lap. She gave it some thought, however, as she knew Blodeuwedd wanted her to think about it. ‘B… Babington was an honest man who hated pretence, for him to mislead me about such a major issue, that’s a big thing.’ It still hurt to think of him, just saying his name was impossibly hard.

‘Can it not be seen as natural progress that a man in the midst of a drastic change, does unusual things which aren’t characteristic of him? You know how much people change as they transform from children into adults. They learn to deal with the change and as they do, they make mistakes.’

‘Yes,’ Esther admitted slowly, ‘but that only affirms my fears: what if he changes into something else? What if he doesn’t become himself again?’

‘He is still an adult, as they go through change they do uncharacteristic things, but mostly return to their usual patterns. You, for example, are quite a sucker for your set of morals, yet you have occasionally made an exception. Does that mean you’ve thrown them out of the window?’

Blodeuwedd made too many points, and they all connected. Her heart still felt too hurt, but her mind struggled to hold onto the blameful narrative.

‘No’, she admitted with a huff.

‘So, you can’t change that he decided not to kill the werewolf. You can’t change that this decision gave you more time with him and made the two of you grow closer towards each other. And we can… about assume that his behaviour was atypical due to circumstances, even though his actions are still wrong. And his predicament is still the same: he’ll still be a werewolf, you’ll still be a witch, you’re still in love with him, he’s still in love with you, and you both still want a future together. I’d say you two should have a talk and try to move on.’

As she sat there, toying with her cup, the words repeating themselves in her head, a thought suddenly struck her.

‘The werewolf! I can still find him.’

The fairy sighed, knocking back her glass in one gulp. Of course Esther would still try to save him. Blodeuwedd shot up a prayer to her deities, if Esther succeeded, they would be right back to square one, since it was quite clear that as it was the curse that brought them together, the lack of the curse would change their entire situation once again.

# 🌔 🌔 🌔

Autumn weather finally kicked in, and the hot days in soft light that marked the days in which Esther and Babington got to know one another, were replaced by cloudy grey days filled with rain. Even at night, the carpet of clouds rarely ever broke. If the moon had filled him with dread before, the inability to see the evolution of the moon caused a nervous breakdown in Babington.

His daytime mood was not much better. Day after day the hope Esther would return lessened. His friends tried, but they didn’t know how to help him, both had experienced heartache but neither had taken it well, and both had suffered for months until Babington had helped them with their situation, and neither had ever been faced with a curse.

However, they did not give up on him simply because they couldn’t offer him advice. They remained. Providing distractions and conversation.

The time was coming though, Babington knew, he felt it, deep inside, an impatience in his bones, an itch underneath his skin. He did not question the loyalty of his friends, but he did wonder what would happen that night, and how his life would alter after that night. Just for one night, the burden had become lighter, with her, but he’d lost her. And immediately learned up close just how bleak his life would be. He pushed the memory of the mausoleum away.

His mind easily darted back towards it, and it always managed to fill him with fear and despair for at least an hour whenever he failed to push it away. Already his heartbeat had quickened.

Sidney called him over for a game of cards, to which he agreed. He had to focus on the present. It was all he had. One last night, followed by one last day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I wouldn't let him suffer anymore? Yeah, woopsie.
> 
> Maybe I wanted my characters to suffer a little bit with me since I'm suffering the worst bout of hay fever in years and am even denied sleep by my stuffed nose and teary eyes.
> 
> HOWEVER to comfort all of you, I will immediately add the final chapter after this.


	12. She put a spell on him

Cloaked in black, arms hidden beneath every layer of clothes, a woman navigated through a town making inquiries.

Dressed in riches, but feeling poor, a wealthy man gazed at the afternoon sky, willing the clock to stop ticking.

Dressed in rags, a farmer tiredly lifted his walking stick as he guided his flock over the hills. Sweat covered his shaking body. The month old wound had never been taken care of, and so despite his quickened healing, had infected and festered.

 **○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**It takes a lot to know a man**

**It takes a lot to understand**

**The warrior, the sage**

**The little boy enraged**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

The door of a tiny house was thrown open. The afternoon sun reflected on the drawn metal gun. But there was no one in the house. A cry of frustration. She needed to find her target. Night was falling, the world coated in shades of orange, pink and blue, nevertheless she persisted. She had her eyes on a goal, and would not give up.

A comforting pat on the shoulder, a final splendid meal. Yet the pat did not comfort, and the meal remained stuck in his throat. His throat constricted at each bite, he could barely breathe. His fingers tingled, his back ached. In one day, he had become an old man.

The joints of his fingers were already cracking underneath the influence of the moon. The sweat and aching bones preceding the change let themselves be known, crippling him with agonizing pain. His existence had never been pleasant, but had grown absolutely unbearable the past month. The woods had always been his safe place during full moons.

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**It takes a lot to know a woman**   
**A lot to understand what's humming**   
**The honeybee, the sting**   
**The little girl with wings**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

Time was running out. The white orb of dread hung low in the east, casting ominous pale light on the dark world. She had failed once more. There was no new plan, she’d exhausted them all. She’d fought and fought, but now she had to accept reality. There was but one place she wanted to go, one place where she needed to be.

Good deeds did not go unrewarded, although he had never wished for circumstances in which his friends could return the loving support he had offered them in their times of need. As he made his last walk as a mortal man, Babington was flanked by a friend on each side, they would walk with him to the end of the world, and they were adamant to stand with him, even after the curse corrupted him forever. They stopped at the chalk lines, and said their final goodbyes and words of support. They drank their bottle of wine, he drank his potion. And after a final pat, he crossed the line. They talked to him then, just like they did at the house, as if this location was truly no different, and they were still just three friends hanging out together. When they departed, they left six burning lanterns in the hall to serve as a light.

The beast liked the wilderness and rarely ventured out. It kept the villagers and cattle safe, and the beast seemed content hunting whatever lived in the woods. The prospect of changing frightened him more than ever, yet he had no choice but to yield. He struggled through the bramble and bushes, tripping over branches. His feet sank away in the deep mud, and by the time he got into the woods, he was entirely soaked in mud and water, his skin open from cuts of thorns and protruding branches. This suffering was not durable.

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**It takes a lot to give, to ask for help**   
**To be yourself, to know and love what you live with**   
**It takes a lot to breathe, to touch, to feel**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

‘Who are you?’ Sidney Parker demanded when he and Crowe came face to face with a cloaked figure pushing through the mausoleum’s outside door. She pushed her hood back, long red curls tumbling free.

‘It’s the witch’, Crowe declared as he recognized the figure from a ball just a little over a month ago. Without her pretty clothes, she looked feral and daunting. He could hardly understand how one as warm and gentle as his friend had decided to fall in love with the wild pagan, even if she was particularly beautiful.

‘Miss Denham?’ Sidney questioned. They had parted on bad terms, yet here she was and there could be no reason to justify her presence. He wanted to shield his friend from the one who had hurt his feelings, on the other hand he knew she had helped all of them multiple times and was still much beloved by Lord Babington.

‘Where is he?’

‘Are you going to be angry with him?’

Her ice cold eyes daggered him. ‘No.’

If she had decided to make amends, he would not keep her. He pulled Crowe’s arm. ‘Let’s go, we promised to be back in the house before night officially falls.’

As they walked towards the door, Sidney Parker turned over his shoulder. ‘Downstairs, you might just catch him in the corridor.’

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**It takes a lot to give, to ask for help**   
**To be yourself, to know and love what you live with**   
**It takes a lot to breathe, to touch, to feel**   
**The slow reveal of what another body needs**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

Babington overheard the exchange and moved towards the wall, even though he could not cross it anymore. The black cloaked figure appeared no seconds later. She ran towards the chalk lines, hands moving to the invisible wall and resting against it.

‘I’m so sorry Esther, once again, for everything. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so ashamed of myself. I wronged you, and behaved in ways I told myself I would never again.’

‘I know. It’s fine. I forgive you. And now I must ask for your forgiveness. I knew you could not risk straying too far from the mausoleum, with the full moon approaching, so I tried to find the werewolf. But I only started this morning. I should have started sooner. I couldn’t find him.’

‘I could never –‘ Babington groaned as a sharp stabbing pain shot through him. He inhaled deeply before looking up again. ‘I could never blame you for it. You did everything you could, and so much more than I could ever ask for.’

Sweat coated his brow. His temperature was rising, his blood was boiling. Esther recognized the signs.

‘I asked too much of you when I asked you to kill him. It was unfair.’

‘It was the best decision on a rational level, you were right about that. It was the best course of action that would have saved the most lives.’

‘It is what it is, don’t torment you, you’re struggling enough as it is’, Esther whispered as Babington sank through his knees when another shot of pain wracked through him. She knew she should tell him to go inside his room, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him. She wanted to turn away from his suffering, but could not bring herself to abandon him.

‘Esther?’

‘Yes?’

He was heaving, leaning on his knees and hands, when he felt an prickling itch over his entire body. Looking down, he saw tough strands of thick hair protruding through his skin. He looked away, scratching at his skin.

‘Why have you retur- aargh!’

A loud and bone chilling snap echoed through the corridor. Another snap. Babington cried out as his shoulders shifted and long claws slit open his fingers to come out.

‘I want to be here for you. Always. I’m here. I won’t leave.’

Babington heaved as the claws grew. He could hear the cracking of his skull as his jaw was starting to contort. He could not talk, the agony was too great, but he could understand. And the thought offered him the relief he needed to face the transformation.

Another crack.

‘Basil!

He pushed off his coat. It was his only one, and he needed to save it for the coming winter. It slid off of his shoulders with surprising ease, quickly tumbling to the ground. The peasant looked at the coat in wonder, before clarity dawned on his fever-ridden mind. The gun. He had brought the gun. He sank through his knees as the familiar first snap of his spine happened. The wound tore further. He would not survive this turning, no matter what. He dove for the coat, before the claws and prolonged bones would make it impossible to wield the weapon. His fingers connected with cold metal. He was about to commit a deliberate crime before God as a man, but he had committed many as a beast. He was already a lost case and would not be allowed entrance to heaven by Saint Peter, but surely God would forgive him this one sin, as it prevented him from committing further sin. For the first time in years, his mind was at peace.

With two hands, he lifted the gun. He could not see the moon from here, at least he would not have to see the thing which had agonized him for years. And he would never have to see it again.

He cradled the metal object to his chest, finally, he would be free.

 **○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

**What are you so afraid to lose?  
What is it you're thinking that will happen if you do?  
What are you so afraid to lose?**

**○•~** **🌕** **~•○**

The cracking came to a halt, the final crack in his fingers, which now really resembled claws, still rung loudly in the ears of both.

The pain of the transformation was still there, and so was the burning heat, but the pain had stopped increasing. He looked up slowly. Esther was leaning against the wall. She was not crying, she was too stubborn too, but her lip was trembling.

Minutes passed, both unable to speak, before Lord Babington dragged himself towards the wall. He could smell her blood, and hear the blood rushing through her veins. But she was no prey in the slightest.

‘Wha-wha?’

‘I don’t know’, she muttered.

Because how could she, or him, or anyone, explain how he had stopped changing although the moon was still climbing.

‘It cannot be the potion’, she reasoned as she looked at him. His shoulders had changed drastically. And as he had forgotten to take off his coat, it was quite torn, and his entire body was almost covered in fur. His hands were clawlike, and his eyes were golden. But he was still human.

‘What does this mean?’ she wondered, frustrated she could not hold him or explain the situation.

Babington shook his head, unable to comprehend the situation, but too afraid to hope. He could not leave though, and she would not leave him, and so they sat, unable to speak, both too overcome with emotion and wonder, until Esther looked down at her watch and declared two hours had passed. The moon was past her highest point, and he was still unchanged.

‘Would? No. Would? Could he have – now?’ she wondered.

‘It’s improbable. But, all alternatives are impossible. The curse did not magically stop. The curse did not decide to skip over someone. And there were no tales of people afflicted with the werewolf curse who were only transformed partially.

She forced herself to speak aloud for Babington’s sake.

‘This could only have happened, if the wolf had killed himself. However, you’re already partially transformed. Does that mean you shall change each full moon, but only partially, or does it mean the curse has now finally ended?’

‘M still this.’

‘Yes, you haven’t changed back. Would that have happened, or is it thus that once the moon has a hold of you, you remain this way until the moon has gone down again, never to transform again since she has no transformative power over you again?’

She mulled it over as she chewed her cheek.

‘It doesn’t matter, we’ll see’, she decided before plopping down.

The night passed, and Esther remained to keep him company. Esther filled the night with wild stories which he couldn’t have imagined, and finally opened up about her parents, her coven and her life. Babington listened the whole time.

Sometimes, the pain was too much to focus, and so he contented himself with listening to the melodic sound of her voice, as memories affected her intonation as she talked. Other times he absorbed her stories like a sponge, finally comprehending why she reacted and behaved the way she did.

The moon descended, and the black of night lifted. The two men stuck to their promise, and returned to the mausoleum at daybreak, finding the sleeping human form of Lord Babington and Esther Denham right next to each other, both on opposing sides of the line. Looking at each other awkwardly, Crowe finally decided the situation would best be dealt with without much ado, and called them up. They awoke, one tired, and the other utterly wrecked by a night full of changing back and forth. He could not walk two feet without collapsing, but his friends both placed an arm of his over their shoulder, and carried him to the house, bringing Esther with them, who meekly followed the three.

She knew how to navigate Babington, but not these two friends. She didn’t have to fear though, as they had unanimously decided to treat her kindly since she had kept watch over him all night. They expected their relationship trouble to be a thing of the past, given that the lady had been prepared to spend the night holed up without a single comfort in a tomb together with a monster. Esther administered Babington a couple of restorative potions she’d brought, and unceremoniously collapsed on the bed in the opposing bedroom. Babington was safe and cared for, and their mutual happiness and shared future was ensured. All by all, the day could not have ended on a better note.

# 💍 💍 💍

In the end, Esther had to wait twenty days and nineteen nights before she could say ‘I do’, but in the end the words were said and the wedding was had.

Her house remained where it was, preserved in a pristine condition and visited regularly during the week-ends by the happy couple. Dudda very much appreciated the reunion with her beloved friend, and took to her new home with great ease, frightening all the mice and testing out all the couches and beds she had access to.

They had told Alexander Crowe and Sidney Parker about the events of the full moon, and although happy, all of them remained realistic and recognized that the moon curse could very well continue. This however, did not lessen their delight at organizing the wedding. Marrying ten days before a full moon meant that a honeymoon was not possible, but this was not necessary, as both were lost to the world as they floated through the halls lost in their very own paradise.

As news trickled into society that Lord Babington had married, many wondered who the mysterious woman was who had appeared out of the blue and snatched one of London’s finest. She had no important name, and was known by none. They wondered where she came from, and how she had met and seduced Lord Babington. But no matter how much debate was had, and no matter how many inquiries were made, no one found out the truth about the redheaded woman who was only first seen by some of the tonne weeks after their wedding had taken place, smiling as she and her husband strolled through the city of Sanditon the day before Miss Heywood’s wedding to Mr. Parker.

It was said she was cold as ice, with hair red as blood, and had her husband wrapped around her little finger.

‘She must be a witch’, it was decided.

‘And she put a spell on him’, they agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest readers, thank you for the never-ending support, even though this was quite an unusual story in the fandom. I was quite convinced no one but me would enjoy a story so far removed from the world of Sanditon filled with fairies and witchcraft and werewolves, especially since the fandom is so small. I was proven wrong, the sanditon sisterhood is so strong and full of love, I really appreciated all your sweet comments so much <3  
> I hope you enjoyed the story, I did leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger so you could all decide for yourselves whether he was still afflicted. Originally, I planned a different and somewhat darker ending, but in these dark times we need some hope and positivity.
> 
> For all of those afraid of Esther/Babington withdrawal symptoms, I have started a canon compliant story about the time between their engagement and marriage called "The In-Between". You can also always read my older stories about them. 
> 
> Much love, Lynn


End file.
